Cloak and Dagger
by AAmuse
Summary: Spock discovers he doesn't remember the events of the previous evening. Kirk discovers Spock has a friend he knew nothing about. Starfleet Security discovers the body of an alien diplomat. Someone has to save the day and prevent a major security breach.
1. One

**Disclaimer**: Star Trek characters belong to Paramount. Originals are mine.

**Author's note**: A good friend of mine has been pressing me for a story featuring one of the OC from _Expanding the Oecumene_ for some time now. I was waiting for an Action/Adventure plot to come to make it happen, so here we go. Takes time during the 1st 5-year mission, closer to the end of the 2nd season.

**Warning**: Work in progress

**Beta****/Editor**: Lil black dog, who is a jewel. All remaining mistakes are mine.

**Codes/Rating**: K&S, S&OC, M, Sc. Friendship/Adventure/Drama. Some UST. **Strong R**.

**Summary**: Spock discovers he does not remember the events of the previous evening. Kirk discovers Spock has a friend he knew nothing about. Starfleet Security discovers the body of an alien diplomat. Someone has to save the day and prevent a major security breach. WIP.

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**Cloak and Dagger**

By

Anna Amuse

**One**

Official functions were not at the top of James Kirk's preferred activities list. They were tedious, and boring, and anything but productive in any sense of the word. Not to mention there was always the possibility of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. Doubly so, when the function in question was a diplomatic event. He didn't have a knack for diplomacy, not in the slightest. Talking always got him into trouble, even if it pulled him out of it just as well.

Yet strangely this time he didn't seem to mind. Actually, he was the one who requested that the _Enterprise_ be diverted to Starbase 16 in order to officially accept the Legourians' petition for Federation membership. It wasn't necessary, as the Starbase commander was entitled to act on behalf of the Federation just as well, but it gave the _Enterprise_ a much desired break after several exhausting missions. The crew needed a change of pace, and so did the ship, according to the Chief Engineer.

Scotty had been driving Kirk up the wall for weeks requesting they make a stop for maintenance which was long overdue. The sound of the docking clamps being engaged brought the Captain a certain measure of relief, which was unexpected at best, as usually it had the opposite effect. He didn't like to feel his ship trapped. But by then, he was rapidly reaching the point when he would have gladly put her in drydock—just to get Scotty off his back.

The thought of his Engineer made Kirk grin. Usually, it was next to impossible to get Scott off the ship during whatever R&R time they were cut. When it came down to shoreleave, Scotty was the champion for staying on board, with Spock coming in a close second. Yet this time both of them were the first ones to leave the ship, even though it wasn't exactly shoreleave they were after.

'Boys went shopping,' Uhura muttered under her breath just this morning to the utter amusement of the entire bridge crew.

Kirk grinned. He imagined that by now Scotty would be halfway harassing the Starbase engineering team, while Spock would go in search of new scientific equipment. Kirk didn't envy the Starbase officers that would have to deal with their requests in the slightest. He shook his head, as a wave of affection washed over him. His first and second officers' zeal to ensure that the _Enterprise_ only got the best of the best wasn't an easy thing to endure if one happened to be on the receiving end of their determination.

Kirk himself was four hours behind them in disembarking. Reluctantly, but inevitably he finally had to submit to a long-postponed physical. McCoy was so irritated that Kirk thought, with mild pangs of guilt, that this time he might have cut it a little too close. McCoy's overall report on the crew's physical fitness was two weeks overdue, thanks exclusively to the Captain this time, and Kirk was still mulling over what he could do to make amends. But that would have to wait, as he had to pay a visit to the Starbase commanding officer now. It wasn't strictly necessary, but it was a kind of a long-standing tradition a wise captain wouldn't want to break.

Just as he was about to cross the docking area and enter the inner rim of the station, the familiar figure of his First Officer caught his eye. Kirk grinned to himself and was about to call Spock's name when he noticed that the Vulcan wasn't alone. He was talking to a tall, well-built, dark-haired human wearing Command gold. No, Kirk corrected himself, not just Command gold. Captain's gold.

That was odd. Starfleet, of course, was a huge organization, and there was no regulation which would state that James T. Kirk should know personally each and every one of his peers. But it still felt strange to watch Spock being so completely at ease around a stranger.

Without being consciously aware of it, Kirk frowned. At ease was an understatement. In fact, Spock's whole posture screamed relaxed comfort and loosening up the way the Vulcan rarely, if ever, appeared. The human was talking animatedly to him, often laughing and gesticulating expressively with one hand. The other was resting casually on Spock's arm, to which the Vulcan seemed to have no objection.

Kirk raised his eyebrows, watching. That was most uncharacteristic of Spock. Who was this man? He couldn't possibly be one of Spock's former commanding officers; he was too young for that, seemingly around Spock's own age. And the relaxed familiarity the two of them were exhibiting was at any rate not at all reminiscent of the way Spock held himself with his superiors, not with Pike and not with Kirk. That was most peculiar.

But it got even more so at the next moment when the doors to the nearest cargo hold opened, and Scotty walked out, engrossed in studying his padd. He nearly stumbled over the unlikely couple and, to Kirk's utter surprise, grinned broadly in recognition. The unknown captain greeted him most enthusiastically, clapping his back and giving him a heartfelt handshake. Spock watched the exchange leniently, showing no signs of surprise at this development. He said something, and both humans burst out laughing.

Kirk shook his head, resuming his way slowly. He was completely puzzled at the little scene. It looked like a class reunion, old friendships flaring up in a moment's notice. But that couldn't be the case, could it? Scotty had left the Academy before Spock even entered, and since they both seemed to be on equally friendly terms with the unknown man, that had nothing to do with it. He wondered briefly why witnessing such a blatantly pleasant encounter had left him with an unidentified sense of unease and worry. Surely, there was no cause for that?

He grinned at his own reaction. Was he getting paranoid, seeing a threat lurking around every corner? _Well_, he thought with a hint of grim humor, _starship duty will do that to you_.

"Jim," Commander Britty greeted him amiably, rising from behind his desk. "Come on in. It's good to see you."

Kirk smiled back as they shook hands.

"You have a new aide," he nodded subtly towards the outer of the office.

"Trust you to notice," Britty grunted, gesturing towards a chair. "I have already warned her about you."

"I can tell," Kirk nodded seriously. "She's just invited me to some sort of party she's hosting tonight."

Britty groaned and rolled his eyes.

"What is it with women anyway? You'd think you're irresistible."

"I take it she didn't invite you?"

"I'm a married man, Kirk," Britty glanced at him strictly. "So save your innuendoes."

Kirk chuckled.

"Try not to sound so disappointed, Warren." The pleasantries out of the way, he got down to business. "What can you tell me about the Legourians that I don't already know?"

Britty looked at him pensively.

"Do you have a new First Officer?"

Kirk blinked, slightly taken aback by the question.

"No."

"Then I don't think I can tell you anything you don't already know," Britty shrugged. "Given how thorough your First is, I'm surprised you even asked."

"Well," Kirk intoned, inordinately pleased for some reason. "They were stationed here for two months. I was hoping you could provide me with some insight."

"Not really," the Starbase commander shook his head. "They are a quiet lot, Jim. Keep to themselves mostly. We've organized every possible tour for them we could think of, showed them all our advances. They seemed interested enough, but when it comes to any kind of social interaction, they snap closed like oysters. They would just stay in their quarters and do God knows what in there for days at a time. Silent types."

"Shame, that," Kirk shook his head. "My CMO would like nothing better than to take a closer look at their physiology. But I take it, they wouldn't be particularly open to the idea."

"I sincerely doubt it."

"Why is the Federation so interested in them?"

Britty looked thoughtful.

"They're good merchants. Currently, we leave most of our trade agreements to Vulcans, which is fine, but has its setbacks."

"Like what?" Kirk raised his eyebrows. Vulcans were renowned for their efficiency in commercial dealings.

"Like they wouldn't consider trade with certain species at all," Britty said. "The Orions, for one. Or the Gurans."

"I'm not sure I'd want to trade with them myself," Kirk cringed. "If not for the cheap dilithium."

"Exactly. Our Vulcan allies value their ethics more than the outcome."

"It's our ethics, too," Kirk remarked calmly. "I wouldn't want my ship to be powered with crystals extracted by slave labor."

Britty shook his head.

"It's not as black and white as that."

"Neither are the Vulcans."

Britty raised his hands and gave him a placating smile.

"Point taken. Anyway, that's the only use I can see in the Legourians so far, Jim. I've been watching these negotiations for some time, and I can't think of anything else of value. Of course, we don't only accept those worlds who can give something to us."

"But we prefer that they do," Kirk nodded in understanding. "I was merely curious about your view on them. My role here is simple—accept the petition and say, 'Thank you for applying.' I hope you don't mind us walking in on you like that."

"Not at all," Britty shook his head. "You know I hate diplomatic stuff. As far as I'm concerned, you can cut in on me any time. But I know I'm not that lucky."

Kirk smiled good-naturedly, only too well in agreement with the Commander's assessment. A thought crossed his mind and he raised the question that had been bugging him, trying to sound as uninterested as possible.

"Say, Warren, is there another starship in range?"

"Another starship?" Britty looked perplexed. "Oh, you mean the _Adventure_. It's one of the new _Hermes_-class, she only came in this morning and hasn't docked yet. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Kirk shrugged with masterful aloofness. "I just saw a guy wearing captain's gold and wondered who he was. _Hermes_-class, did you say? I didn't know they were ready for launch."

"The _Adventure_ is the first, from what I heard."

"I must admit I'm unfamiliar with it."

"So is Captain Radek, I would imagine," Britty chuckled. "He's only just been promoted and this is his new command. He spent a couple of weeks on the station waiting for her, and I would imagine getting bored out of his wits. Maybe you should take a moment to say hi."

"You know him well?"

"I hadn't heard of him until he stopped by to introduce himself. But he seems like a pleasant fellow."

"Really," Kirk said, with inexplicable skepticism. "I'll meet him if I get the chance." He stood up, reasserting his easy grin. "Thanks for talking to me, Warren. The ceremony's in two days, right?"

"It is. By the way, Commodore Wesley sent word he might make it, too. He's a friend of yours, isn't he?"

"Bob Wesley?" Kirk lifted his eyebrows. Surprise warred inside him with uneasiness. "Yes, we're friends. At least we were, until... well."

"Yeah," Britty nodded sympathetically. "You have to know that nobody blames you, Jim. It must have been terrible to watch this machine fire at your friends. It's a good thing you were able to stop it."

Kirk's face darkened, expression closed.

"Thanks, Warren," he said. "I appreciate it, but I'd rather not talk about it."

"Of course," Britty nodded. "Well then, Jim. You have a party to attend."

Kirk winced lightly, but grinned.

"Do I have to?"

"Hey, you're the one with the reputation. But take my advice, go for a few hours. If my experience with the Legourians is any indication, you'd better get as much entertainment as you can while it's there."

"Thanks, Warren," Kirk nodded at him lightly. "I'll see you around."

It turned out though that Commander Britty's suggestion was excessive in any case, because Lieutenant Barns had no intention of letting her guest of honor escape. Disposing of his half-hearted reluctance at the sight of her pretty face, Kirk gave in graciously and allowed her to show him to the local recreation center.

It was late in the Beta shift when Kirk returned to the _Enterprise_. What compelled him to do so wasn't immediately clear—he wanted a change of scenery after all, didn't he? He was enjoying the merry company his beautiful guide had assembled, and if he were to follow his usual routine, he should have taken her up on her offer and stayed. Never let it be said that James T. Kirk would willingly pass up an offer like that, and yet something made him say a polite no and bow out.

He must be tired, he mused lamely as he made his way back to his cabin. Or, getting old? Kirk chuckled. Way too early for that. And it wasn't as if he found the young woman unattractive. But she was a little bit too eager to please, a little bit too awed by him, so awed, in fact, that it didn't even feel natural. He couldn't shake off the feeling that she was merely picking up a spectacular specimen for her collection, rather than being interested in him, however briefly. There was something of a routine in her gentle yet slightly detached approach, giving away the fact that she was far more interested in spending time with Captain Kirk rather than with Jim Kirk.

There were times when he wouldn't have minded. But tonight his pride outweighed his desire for companionship. Or perhaps it wasn't even pride. He had found the encounter lacking in subtlety, and that was in the end what made him withdraw. Curious, that. He had never been one for subtlety before. Delicacy and sophisticated conversation were more Spock's style than his. Not that he could actually picture his Vulcan friend in a similar situation.

He chuckled at the idea, and nodded at a passing crewman who gave him a bewildered look. Kirk grinned, realizing he had come to a stop at Spock's door rather than his own. What was it he had said to his First Officer so many months ago? Something about Spock giving him emotional security? That seemed to be just as true now as it had been then. Maybe even more. It wasn't that late yet, and Spock probably wouldn't mind him dropping by for a delayed game of chess. But almost instantly the thought made Kirk frown.

Spock wouldn't mind, and if he did, he wouldn't admit it. They had been spending a lot of time together lately, and Kirk wondered suddenly if he had been monopolizing Spock's free hours. True, the Vulcan had never said no to him to date, but then would he? Given his predilection to strict subordination and loyalty, wouldn't it stand to reason that he might have considered it his duty as well?

Funnily enough, the thought had never occurred to him prior to meeting Spock. He could always tell when someone was enjoying his company and when they weren't, be it subordinates, superiors, or otherwise. Spock was an adult, of course, and fully capable of deciding for himself, but it felt wrong somehow that in so many instances Kirk was unable to read him. Kirk could clearly recall several occasions when he got the distinct impression that his First was humoring him, agreeing to do something he would normally avoid. It seemed like fun at the moment, but it always left him with a sense of mild unease and a slightly guilty conscience.

The Captain rubbed at his eyes tiredly, and moved on towards his own cabin. The only way to know for sure would be if Spock took the initiative in his own hands. But Kirk had yet to see him so much as suggest sharing a meal in the Officers' Mess, never mind a game of chess. It was true that protocol-wise Spock was impeccably correct here. But protocol never stopped Bones for one. Or Gary. And surely even a Vulcan could make some small concessions sometimes when they were all off duty? Particularly when his captain had told him in so many words that he wouldn't mind?

Kirk sighed. Spock had to be constantly prompted to call him by his first name even. Getting so little feedback from anyone, Kirk normally would have long abandoned any attempt to draw them out. He wasn't in for desperate cases. For some reason, the idea of leaving Spock to his own devices had never occurred to him. Perhaps because Spock was giving him feedback, just not the kind to be easily discerned. Or maybe it was because he quite plainly liked the Vulcan, and was never bored in his company whatever they were doing.

But tonight, he decided, Spock had earned a night off, and a night off in every sense. Kirk could use an extra hour of sleep himself, come to think of it. He was tired and he planned an early start tomorrow. He walked resolutely to his quarters, for once yielding to the logic of common sense.

* * *

He woke up in the dark and completely disoriented. The first thought that greeted him back to consciousness was that this was not his own bed. This wasn't even the _Enterprise_. After so many years, the feel of his ship was something he would recognize instantly. His head was buzzing uncomfortably. His whole body felt numb, as if the proverbial ton of bricks had landed right on top of him. He wasn't hurting exactly, but he was unusually weak.

Where was this place? What happened?

Those were not the kind of questions any Vulcan should ever have the necessity to ask.

"Computer, lights," Spock said tentatively into the darkness, noting the uncharacteristically raspy sound of his voice.

Miraculously, the lights came on, and he sat up abruptly, studying his surroundings.

He wasn't in his own bed, of course, but this one was also Starfleet issue. As was the room surrounding it. He was fully clothed but for his blue shirt that was mysteriously missing. It wasn't the only thing, too. Wherever he looked, he could not locate his tricorder, which he had with him in order to log his requisitions at the Starbase facilities, and which he was sure he still had the previous evening.

Evening...

It was morning now, he could tell, but he didn't know the time precisely, and it was another alarming realization. He tried to concentrate on the last clear memory, but it was difficult, recollections were elusive and vague.

He remembered the bar, clearly. Their small party was starting to break up, and it ultimately came down to the four of them. The proprietor warned them he was going to close soon. Sinead... Lieutenant Kerr, Spock corrected himself promptly, took that as a cue to leave. Mr. Scott offered to walk her back to her ship. Spock deemed it necessary to remind him that they had an early briefing scheduled in the morning. He remembered the affronted look the Engineer had given him. He thought then that he must have misunderstood Scott's intentions regarding the Lieutenant. He tried to apologize. Mr. Scott, however, seemed to be in exceedingly good spirits and only waved him off dismissively.

Spock didn't spare the incident much thought. He had a more pressing concern on his hands, namely Luca. It was obvious that his old friend had consumed more alcoholic beverages than seemed reasonable, even by human standards. The joy of their unexpected reunion as well as of the long expected and much anticipated promotion and new command was clearly too much to resist. Spock realized that Luca would have unlikely made it back to his quarters on his own and volunteered to escort him.

Ah.

He looked around with renewed scrupulousness. These must be Luca's quarters. Walking here was the last memory Spock had of the night before. As usual, Luca's inebriation resulted in hindered coordination, lowered inhibitions and excessively affectionate behavior. None of which was something Spock couldn't handle. It was, after all, nothing new to him.

Same as now, back at the Academy, he was usually the only person who would not consume any alcohol and would therefore be stuck with the dubious honor of taking care of his indisposed companions. He tried naturally to avoid any gatherings that might have resulted thus, but having a friend like Tora Jonnson or a team leader like Luca Radek, he sometimes had little choice. He had never backed off from his obligations then, even though he could never understand the persistent desire to incapacitate themselves that so many humans exhibited. Most certainly, he could not have left Luca alone last night, for now that he was captain, he had more than his personal image at stake.

They walked here, Spock remembered that. Or rather, he walked, and Luca was half-pulled, half-carried. Spock remembered stepping through the doors. And then...

Nothing.

His memory was completely blank. He frowned in concentration. Vulcans didn't suffer from amnesia of any kind. He must have been unconscious during those missing hours. But why? And why was he feeling so weak? So dizzy? He was certain he did not drink any alcoholic beverages last night. Why was he nearly incapacitated? Why couldn't he remember? And why wasn't Luca here, if these were his quarters?

It occurred to him that he would not get any answers by sitting here and waiting for his head to clear. One glance at the chronometer told him he had missed the morning briefing. He was, in fact, two hours thirty-seven minutes late for his shift. This was unacceptable. Technically, he was AWOL.

He should contact the _Enterprise_ immediately... Only then did he notice that his communicator was nowhere in sight, either. Spock rose to his feet abruptly and instantly regretted it. But his stubbornness kept him upright, even as his legs threatened to give way. He straightened with difficulty, realizing that his balance was regrettably off. He staggered towards the comm panel on the wall only to find it inactive.

That was odd, but he couldn't spare much thought to this peculiar circumstance right this moment. Several tentative steps across the room apprised him that he would be able to get back to the _Enterprise_ under his own power, but he would have to walk slowly. If only his head wasn't spinning so badly...

He made it to the door, holding onto the walls, but he couldn't continue like this once he left the room. Summoning every bit of strength he possessed, he managed to let go and walk without support. Slowly, though. He was certain he was barely moving.

The station swung around him uncomfortably. Luca's quarters were in the most populated area, right across from the main promenade. Spock started to count his steps to maintain his concentration. He could tell people were staring. But there wasn't much he could do about it, except walk on. He would have to see McCoy, he realized with an unpleasant sinking sensation coming from the region of his stomach. Late as he was already, he had no choice. It was getting clearer by the moment that, as he was now, he was not fit for duty.

It occurred to him that he was staggering and swaying, like a drunk seaman headed for his ship. Shame heated up his face, and he realized he wasn't controlling his emotions either. If the Captain were to see him like this... Spock bowed his head and nearly tripped over his feet. He forced himself to banish irrelevant thoughts and concentrate on controlling his motor functions.

Suddenly, his way was blocked. He raised his head perplexedly to discover several Legourians watching him, their impenetrable black eyes focusing on him with unidentifiable menace. Vaguely, he felt surprise stir within him. Everything he knew of their people told him this was not their usual routine.

"Excuse me," he said, hearing his own voice blurring and feeling renewed embarrassment wash over him. "May I... pass?"

They didn't move at first, only stared at him blankly.

"Ex—cuse me," he repeated with difficulty, sensing the upcoming despair. He was suddenly struck with the terrifying realization that if he stopped now, he'd fall and wouldn't be able to rise.

He never saw where the first blow came from. They were suddenly all over him, hitting him methodically and in perfect silence. Far from being able to fight back, he couldn't even do a half-decent job of evading their blows. Strangely, he didn't feel much pain, even though his mind was telling him that he must be hurting. It was almost as if he was watching himself being beaten from afar, dimly aware that it was he in the middle of it.

"All right, break it up!" A sharp voice cut through the crowd, assaulting his hearing.

In a moment, he was surrounded by the Starbase security officers who held the Legourians aside. Only then did Spock realize he was curled up on the floor, instinctively trying to protect his head. He looked up, expecting assistance. Surely, this was all some sort of terrible cultural misunderstanding.

The hands that jerked him upright were far from gentle.

"Are you Commander Spock of the USS _Enterprise_?"

With great effort, he managed to focus on the officer who asked the question.

"Correct," Spock uttered, extremely confused.

"You're under arrest," the Security officer told him sternly. "You have the right to remain silent. However, if you wish to invoke that right, it will be mentioned in your court-martial. Take him to the brig."

"Wait!" Spock managed to stall the forward motion, despite his weakened state and the effort of the guards urging him on. "What are the charges against me?"

The officer had given him a look of sheer disgust.

"You are being charged with assassinating the Legourian Ambassador. Do you have anything to say?"

Spock stared at him in astonishment. The incredible nature of the statement had shaken him to the core.

"No," he said. "I do not."

At this moment, he could not offer anything logical, rational or even coherent if his life depended on it. Which, from the looks of it, was the case.

"Take him away," the officer ordered to his men. "If he causes any trouble, stun him."

Shocked, like he hadn't ever been in his life, Spock offered no resistance.


	2. Two

**Two**

"Good morning, Captain," Uhura flashed a surprised smile at him. "You're up early."

He grinned back, coming to a halt at her station. As they were docked at the Starbase, the Bridge was sparsely manned; apart from Uhura, there was only one officer present, monitoring the life support system.

"I woke up and couldn't sleep," Kirk explained amiably. "Thought maybe I'd come up and see how things were going up here."

"There's nothing to report," she said, shrugging mildly. "All systems are functioning normally. Oh, and Mr. Spock hasn't checked in yet today."

He glanced at her sharply, realizing she had caught him staring absently at the Science station. Her smile was so impeccably innocent, that he had to laugh. He had always found it extremely difficult to be the slightest bit annoyed with her.

"Uhura," he said, shaking his head. "What am I going to do with you?"

She blinked at him sweetly.

"Give me a pay raise?"

He laughed again, patting her back lightly.

"Get in line. Did either Spock or Scotty leave their requisition forms?"

"Either, Captain?" she asked in mock surprise and handed him two padds swiftly. "Mr. Spock left a note that it would be logical for you to check them at your convenience but preferably before the briefing."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Kirk grunted, taking the padds from her. "Anything else I can do to keep my Exec happy?"

Uhura smiled with masterful artlessness.

"I really couldn't say, sir."

He looked into her laughing eyes in exasperation, but he really couldn't bring himself to do anything about her. He'd tell off anyone else, but Uhura was simply beyond his reach. Even Spock couldn't do anything about her teasing, having resigned to endure it stoically. Well, Kirk thought philosophically, at least she didn't sing songs about _him_ in the Rec Room.

He satisfied himself with saying as strictly as he could make it, "You, Lieutenant, are an unbearable tease. And before you say 'thank you, sir,' that was not a compliment."

"Of course not, Captain." She made a calculated pause and added after him, "Thank you, sir."

Kirk groaned, without looking back, and stepped down to sit in his chair. He looked over Scotty's request first. The list was extensive, but mostly it was what Kirk had expected. For some time now, they had been running not quite on a wing and a prayer yet, but uncomfortably close to that point. He knew Scotty would wish to replace a lot of worn out components as well as to refill his stock of spare parts stretching the leeway that the special circumstances granted him to the limit.

Kirk did frown though, coming across 'Deflector array power cells.' No numbers next to the specified item meant that Scotty wished to replace the whole set. That wasn't a bad idea per se, but it was an expensive one. Kirk remembered the strain of their last mission, the rescue operation in an asteroid belt. They must have damaged the deflector more than he had realized.

He called up Spock's list and scanned it quickly. Spock was fairly moderate in his requests, only including the damaged or destroyed equipment. However, at the bottom of the second page, Kirk stumbled over the line 'High-frequency multitronic subprocessor.' That piece of technology was also one of Doctor Daystrom's basic design, reworked and adapted by a team of computer specialists, which incidentally happened to include Spock.

It wasn't bad memories or doubt, though, that gave Kirk a halt. If Spock said it was safe, then it was safe, there could be no two minds about it. And from what his First Officer managed to explain, once installed, the subprocessor would increase the speed of processing of the scientific data up to five times, possibly more. The benefits for a ship of exploration, such as the _Enterprise_, were immeasurable. That wasn't in dispute, but the price for this particular piece of equipment was.

Kirk frowned. He wasn't supposed to pay for it, of course, but in Starfleet, every ship had a budget. It was large for a _Constitution_-class, considering the number and the nature of missions each one of those undertook yearly. There was significant room for emergency situations and extra repairs a ship might require. If the budget was overspent, it didn't mean of course that the ship wouldn't receive the necessary treatment. It would, but the captain would be required to present a report explaining the circumstances. A special commission would be formed to investigate if the commanding officer could have avoided additional expenses, or if the unforeseen damage was caused due to his or her negligence.

The first year of Kirk's command of the _Enterprise_ resulted in a twelve percent over-expenditure. The second—in twenty. Kirk was beginning to feel real sick of explaining himself to special commissions. He was, of course, vindicated every time, but that didn't make the experience any more pleasant. He didn't like the talk about special treatment very much either. However, since the captain couldn't be asked to make command decisions based on financial considerations, it ultimately fell onto the executive officer's shoulders to keep the expenses in line.

Spock was doing a superb job maneuvering between their objective needs and available resources. Unfortunately, even Vulcan meticulousness couldn't compete with the toll their missions were taking on them. There was always a fine limit to what he could squeeze out in every case. But he tried his best, always, and Kirk was surprised to see him put an item on his list which, despite its obvious advantages, could only be considered a luxury.

Perhaps he didn't have the time to examine Scotty's list?

Kirk scanned the Engineer's request again and raised his eyebrows. Sure enough, there was Spock's signature, right below Scotty's. He had seen this request and approved it. Strange. It seemed that the power cells for the deflector and the new subprocessor would exclude each other, and Kirk knew that Spock didn't like to put him in a position where he would have to choose either between two major components or between his Chief Engineer and Chief Science Officer.

Spock found such competition illogical, because, while the _Enterprise_ was a ship of exploration, it wouldn't go very far without a smoothly run Engineering Section. Besides, Spock could not tolerate the idea that he might so much as _appear_ to abuse his position as First Officer to benefit his own department.

That only left one explanation, and Kirk smiled, shaking his head. Spock clearly believed that they could afford both those items at this time, but he was leaving it to the Captain to discover how he managed that. It wasn't the first time, either, and Kirk got ready to dig into the puzzle his devious First had left for him.

He was, in fact, so engrossed in solving the administrative riddle that he had completely lost track of time. When he heard the turbolift doors open, he turned towards them automatically, expecting to see Spock who usually came to pick him up for the briefing. But it wasn't Spock, it was Scotty, and he looked puzzled and slightly annoyed.

"Captain," the Engineer said in a perplexed tone, having spared a glance at the Science station. "Have ye seen Mr. Spock this morning?"

Kirk felt his eyebrows crease in surprise.

"No," he replied slowly. "I thought he was with you."

They both glanced at Uhura, and she stared back, bewildered.

"I thought he was in the Lab," she said.

Kirk peered at the chronometer.

"The briefing must have begun by now," he realized, with a jolt of surprise. "Sorry, Scotty. In fact, it should be nearly over."

"Aye," Scott nodded. "I thought maybe there was some kind of hold up."

"Uhura, page Mr. Spock please," Kirk ordered quietly.

He had a bad feeling about it, and he wasn't very much surprised when she looked up from her console in complete puzzlement.

"Mr. Spock is not on board, Captain. He never returned to the ship."

"What?" Kirk rose to his feet, surprised. "That's impossible. He must be ill or something."

"He seemed fine enough last night," Scott noted helpfully. "When we were at the bar."

Both Kirk and Uhura stared at him incredulously. Stunned silence reigned.

"_You and Spock went into a bar_?" Kirk managed finally. Apart from the fact that it had to be one hell of an incentive to make Spock actually walk into one, a more unlikely pair of drinking companions was next to impossible to imagine.

The turbolift doors opened exactly in time for McCoy to hear his disbelieving exclamation.

"Scotty, did I hear him right?" the Doctor asked, coming closer. "What, in the name of all things holy, possessed you? Bringing Spock along is like having a bachelor party in a convent."

"Depends on what kind of convent, Doctor," Uhura told him seriously. "For instance, the esoteric cult on Risa has a wonderful tradition of—"

"This isn't happening," Kirk complained into space.

"It wasn't like that," Scott said indignantly at the same time.

McCoy's face suddenly brightened.

"No, wait, I get it. Are we having some kind of 'Tell a Bad Story about Spock' Day?"

"Bones..."

"I just heard a weird one from Chris, too. She heard somewhere on the station that he'd been arrested for murder." He eyed his audience gleefully, but when nobody laughed, he pouted. "What's wrong with you, people? I thought that was a good one."

"It would have been, and I'd have laughed, if Spock was sitting right here," Kirk said. "We can't seem to find him anywhere."

"Have you tried walking over to the library computer and knocking? I'm pretty sure the guy lives in there."

"Bones, would you please—"

"No, seriously, Jim. I once tried to get his attention while he was staring at an abandoned newt crest on Pollux Prime. He ignored me for like half an hour and then gave me a whole goddamned lecture on the subject of newt mating rituals, when all I wanted to know was the time!"

Uhura turned back to her station, smothering a case of giggles.

"Serves you right for not carrying a chronometer," Kirk said. "Now, Scotty, you were saying—"

"Captain," Uhura interrupted him. "Commander Britty is asking to speak to you. He says it's urgent."

"Put him through," Kirk nodded readily, turning to face the screen. "Warren. How may I help you?"

But the Starbase commander looked grim.

"Captain, I have some rather disturbing news," Britty said sternly. "The Legourian Ambassador was found dead in his quarters this morning."

"What?"

"You heard me, Jim. And that's not all. We have the culprit in custody. It's Mr. Spock."

_No_, Kirk thought frantically, even though he had somehow sensed what was coming before Britty had spoken the name. McCoy gasped softly behind him.

"That's impossible," Kirk said aloud.

"We have solid evidence, Captain," the Commander pursed his lips grimly. "I couldn't believe it myself, but I can't ignore the proof at hand."

"I demand to see it," Kirk snapped.

"I thought you would," Britty nodded readily. "Meet me in my office in an hour, see for yourself."

"I need to see Spock as well."

Britty narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Are you appointing yourself as his counsel?"

Kirk didn't hesitate one bit.

"Yes."

The Commander nodded.

"Very well then. You can see him after you see me. Britty out."

Kirk turned towards his officers slowly.

"Well, Scotty. I didn't think I'd ever want to hear that phrase spoken on my Bridge, but I believe it's time to tell bar stories."

Stunned like the rest of them, the Engineer nodded gravely.

"Aye."

* * *

It wasn't the first time Spock had found himself thinking that Starfleet judicial procedures were in certain ways redundant. The thought had occurred to him even prior to him taking the opposite side of the process on several notable occasions. And it was, in any case, the first time he was subjected to the full scale processing, because his staged court-martial on the _Enterprise_ regarding his hijacking the ship hardly followed every letter of protocol. Back then, everyone was too stunned to care about legal scrupulousness. Besides, aboard the _Enterprise_, it was he who usually assumed the role of the legal counsel.

In a sense, he was grateful for his thorough legal background for it gave him the opportunity to observe the proceedings from a professional point of view. Otherwise, the only subject for his reflections would have been the absurd accusations, and that would hardly have been agreeable.

Were they absurd, though? Spock asked himself grimly. It was true that he possessed no memory of killing the Ambassador. Unfortunately, he possessed no memory of not doing it either. He was informed during the first round of questioning that the time of death was approximately oh-five hundred hours. Not only could Spock not prove that he wasn't in the Ambassador's quarters at the time, he couldn't even apprise them as to where he was, let alone produce an alibi. And while Vulcans were perhaps not the most likely suspects in a murder case, he himself had stated not so long ago during their voyage to Babel that, when necessary, Vulcans could commit homicide.

Logically and physically.

Spock suppressed a sigh and looked around the interrogation room again. It wasn't that he hoped to see some detail that had eluded his attention before, so much as it was his wish to escape, however nominally, the tediousness of yet another long wait. They were doing that a lot to him, and he wondered why. Not that he particularly enjoyed the experience of being questioned, but so far, only his interrogators were bringing him the information he so desperately craved.

At last, the door opened, and a woman walked in, carrying a small standard issue case. Spock stood up automatically, but she hardly seemed to notice, proceeding to settle at the desk. At her cool nod, he resumed his seat.

"Commander Spock, I'm Lieutenant Lindsey Barns, Commander Britty's aide. I'm also his official JAG advisor. I am here to record your testimony regarding the evidence which incriminates you."

"I am as of yet unfamiliar with any such evidence," Spock said coolly.

For some reason, the news that she was the Commander's new aide made him uncomfortable. He enjoyed working with Lieutenant Ito, who had occupied the position previously, and of whom he could say nothing but that she was a consummate professional.

"So you claimed," she said in response to his previous statement. "Do you still insist you will not provide us with the information regarding your whereabouts at the time of murder?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"My will has nothing to do with it, Lieutenant."

"Oh, yes, I forgot. You have conveniently suffered amnesia for several hours."

"I find nothing convenient about a memory loss," Spock said calmly. "If the results of my medical examination did not reveal—"

She tilted her head in a combination of curiosity and disdain.

"The examination, Commander, showed you're perfectly healthy but for some bumps and bruises. And I am, of course, no expert on Vulcan physiology, but it was my understanding that your people didn't suffer from memory losses."

"Generally, we do not."

"Then, logically, Mr. Spock, I would have to conclude that it is your will rather than physical disability that prevents you from giving an account of your whereabouts and activities. Your earlier objection is therefore invalid."

Spock fought the impulse to close his eyes in exasperation. This would never have happened on Vulcan. A single mind-meld would have determined if he was telling the truth. But mind-melds were not considered legal proof within the Starfleet judicial system. Even if there had been another Vulcan on the station, this would have been of no use.

"I withdraw my earlier objection," he said evenly. "However, I maintain that it is my right to familiarize myself with the evidence against me. Please proceed with the presentation."

By saying that, he had effectively taken control of the conversation, and, judging by the Lieutenant's expression, she hadn't missed it and didn't like it one bit. Unfortunately, she couldn't do anything to deny his request. Schooling her expression to neutrally cold, she opened her case and pulled out an evidence bag, which contained a piece of blue cloth, ripped and stained in purple.

"Do you recognize this?"

Spock took the bag from her and lifted it to his eyes, examining it closely.

"It appears to be a fragment of Starfleet uniform," he observed, studying it.

"Would you not care to be more specific?" she asked, almost lightly. "It's a piece of your uniform, Commander. We found it clutched in the Ambassador's hand. The DNA analysis of the residual skin tissue proves it belongs to you."

"Indeed?" Spock raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Most peculiar."

"I'd say," Barns pursed her lips, taking the bag back from him. "Can you explain how a part of your uniform happened to be stuck in a dead man's grip?"

"No," Spock shook his head. "I am certain I cannot."

"Well then, perhaps you can explain why your tricorder was interlinked with the Ambassador's computer?" The Lieutenant took the said device out of her case and showed it to Spock. "Do you deny that this is yours?"

Spock took the tricorder she handed him and examined it. While tricorders were a universal piece of equipment, he preferred to keep his own stock, which he modified to suit his specific requirements. Each one of his had enlarged memory storage capacity as well as an additional microprocessor of his own design, which increased the speed of data processing. And while several memory chips were missing from this specific machine, the microprocessor was in place, giving away the identity of the tricorder's owner far more effectively than the standard designation sign on the bottom.

"This is one of mine," Spock confirmed, giving the tricorder back to the Lieutenant.

She nodded, not having expected another answer.

"What was it doing in the Ambassador's quarters, Mr. Spock?"

"I cannot say."

"Well then," she said, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. "If you insist on being willfully uncooperative, there isn't much left for us to discuss."

Spock didn't agree with her assessment, but he sensed a fine logical trap in the possible argument and decided to refrain from it. He inclined his head softly.

"It does appear that this conversation has exhausted its usefulness."

"Don't be so sure," Barns said, rising up to her feet smoothly. "I want to be certain you understand the consequences of your stubbornness. While it may seem strange that any consideration is to be shown to a murderer, the fact is that while you still wear the uniform... Figuratively speaking, of course," she added with a dry smile, glancing briefly at his grey coveralls, "you are my charge and I must ensure that your interests are met. So let me make one thing perfectly clear. You're not facing a bad conduct discharge here. Not even several years in a Federation penal colony. The Legourians are way beyond angry with you. Apparently, Ambassador Ktlk'ak was some kind of renowned dignitary or a wise elder. You're facing extradition. And I believe you are familiar with the Legourian imprisonment policy."

"I have a vague notion."

She fixed him with a stern gaze, clearly considering his tone unacceptable.

"If you don't want to gain first hand experience with it, I suggest you change your attitude. And accepting one of our designated court officers as your counsel might be a good start."

"I do not require the services of a counsel," Spock stated evenly. "But I would appreciate a chance to speak to my captain."

She pursed her lips and tilted her head disapprovingly.

"You're not in a position to choose your dates, Mr. Spock. And let me tell you something else. I will use every bit of my personal influence on Captain Kirk to make him stay away from you. You might not care about anyone else, but right now, you're radioactive. Being close to you means being contaminated with sympathy towards a cold-blooded murderer. The sooner Jim will disassociate himself from you, the better for him and his career. If you have any decency left in you, you wouldn't want to take him down with you."

Spock stared at her. The cruel logic of her words registered vaguely in his mind, preoccupied with the words 'personal influence' and the fact that she had called the Captain 'Jim.' He looked at the woman again, trying to see her the way humans would, without pausing to ask himself why he was doing it.

She was of average height, closer to petite rather than tall, and had classically feminine features. Her face was aesthetically agreeable. Her hair was platinum gold, arranged in a somewhat complex style. Her dark grey eyes were big and expressive. In fact, the only fault he could find in her appearance was that the color of her lipstick was perhaps slightly brighter than the regulations allowed, but those were the kinds of regulations rarely observed. Spock had never known Captain Kirk to reprimand any female crewmember for excessive use of make-up, and Spock doubted that he would have found anything wrong with the way the Lieutenant looked.

Why was that thought disturbing him? And why was he thinking about anything so irrelevant at all?

"You are correct," he spoke at last, as she arched her eyebrows at his scrutiny. "I would not want his career to be threatened by this incident. But Captain Kirk is a man of strong opinions. Convincing him might not be an easy task."

Barns smiled at him leniently.

"Oh, don't worry, Commander. One night of fun might not give me the weight I need with him, but whatever I have, I'll use. I'm glad we're in agreement."

Spock inclined his head silently. She closed her case and picked it up, ready to go.

"If you change your mind regarding the defense counsel, let me know."

"I will," he said. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

She threw a look at him, telling him in no uncertain terms exactly how she felt receiving his gratitude, and left. Spock stood up, as a guard walked in to take him back to his cell.

The conversation had clarified the reasons for his arrest, but it didn't explain how those reasons came to be. He had hoped that the memories would start to return, just as his body functions were getting back to normal, but that didn't happen. He still couldn't remember a single minute out of the four missing hours, and the presented evidence raised a most unpleasant prospect.

What if he did kill the Legourian?

The evidence was hard to ignore. Hard as he tried to construct any possible explanation for his belongings to be in the Ambassador's quarters, he couldn't come up with any remotely plausible theory. He must have gone there. But what for? What was he trying to find in the Ambassador's computer? He had a strong suspicion that the missing memory chips could have answered a lot of these questions. But being stuck here, he didn't have the slightest chance to find them.

There was another consideration that troubled him. Throughout all the proceedings, he wasn't once asked about Luca. Nor did anyone mention him, and Spock didn't ask, not wanting to entangle the human in such undignified business on the verge of him taking command of his ship. But whether Spock killed the Ambassador or not, it was still strange that Luca wasn't in his quarters when Spock had woken up. He was beginning to feel deeply concerned for Luca's fate. If he didn't remember one crime, was it possible he didn't remember another? Was Luca all right?

Spock sat on his bunk, staring into space. He might have appeared dispassionate to the world, but anyone who knew him well enough would have seen that his gaze was full of misery. If not knowing was an irritant for humans, for Vulcans it appeared to be a form of torture. For a desperate moment, it occurred to him that he might have preferred knowing he _had_ killed the Ambassador to this ultimate uncertainty. Because if he did, he must have had his reasons.

And what of Jim, he mused gloomily. What of the Captain? What of his shipmates? Him being accused even, let alone convicted, threw a shadow over each and every one of them. How many suspicious glances would they catch because of him? The _Enterprise_ had a reputation of a paragon ship. That, too, was in jeopardy now. What had he possibly been thinking when he asked to see the Captain? Hadn't he caused enough damage already?

Spock shook his head at himself mentally. He had spoken without thinking, out of the instinctive belief that whatever happened to either of them, together they could always get it right. Up to this moment, Spock never realized how deep an impact the Captain's presence usually had on him. When Kirk was around, it was as if Spock's thoughts were clearer and his logic sharper, despite occasional and rather blatant lapses in it, which happened in and mostly due to the Captain's presence. It should have been a contradiction, but it wasn't. Somehow it never was.

Jim was his strength, Spock thought regrettably, but it seemed that he was also becoming Spock's ultimate weakness.

Stifling a groan, Spock slid down to the floor, assuming his customary meditation position. His body still didn't feel right, but the medics assured him he was healthy, and Spock had no reasons to mistrust them. He would have to ignore his physical discomfort for the time being. If only he could do the same with his hindered memory...

He closed his eyes and began the first sequence of concentration.

* * *

"Now, let me get this straight," Kirk said, rubbing his forehead. "Spock knew Captain Radek before you did?"

"Aye, Captain," Scott nodded, watching him as if he was particularly dim. "I met Luca... I mean, Captain Radek during the second Klingon war. He was in charge of the planetary evacuation in the same quadrant the _Enterprise_ was assigned to. We had a few run-ins. Of course, he wasn't captain then."

"Wasn't that about the same time you were demoted?" Kirk asked, frowning in concentration.

The Engineer stood a little straighter, his shoulders tensing slightly.

"Aye, about that time, sir."

Kirk patted his arm absently.

"I'm just trying to connect the dots, Scotty. And what about Spock?"

"Mr. Spock knows him from the Academy. I think they were in the same class."

"And you're all friends?"

Scott cringed slightly.

"I can't say he's a close friend of mine, Captain, but he's a good lad. He is a good friend of Mr. Spock, though, or so I believe."

Kirk stifled an irritated grunt. His wife, his parents, and now his 'good friend'—Spock definitely wasn't getting in the habit of volunteering personal information. Not that it was something particularly new, but every time Kirk believed for some reason—and a stupid one at that, as he realized now—that it was going to be the last hidden bombshell. Was he being naïve where Spock was concerned? It seemed like on some level Spock would never trust him.

Banishing irrelevant thoughts, he asked, "And he was the last one to see Spock last night?"

"The two of them stayed at the bar after we left," Scott nodded. "Luca had a wee drop too much, if ye know what I mean. I would imagine it took some time to convince him to leave."

Kirk's eyes narrowed perilously.

"And you left Spock with him like that?"

The Scotsman's eyes glinted with amusement.

"Captain, I assure ye, if Mr. Spock was in any danger, it wasn't the kind he'd like me to protect him from."

McCoy scoffed and shook his head.

"Your virtuous First Officer seems to be full of surprises, Jim," he said lamely. "And I'll bet they aren't over yet."

Kirk turned to Uhura, forcing himself to ignore the news and the comment. They were treating the whole situation a little bit too lightly, but he couldn't in all honesty hold it against them. The very notion that Spock might have killed someone, _anyone_, let alone an Ambassador of a potential ally, was so farfetched that it was difficult to consider it seriously.

"Lieutenant, try to locate Captain Radek for me."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh damn," Kirk sighed, massaging his suddenly very stiff neck. "And here we were, making an R&R stop. Scotty, McCoy and I are going to the station. You're in charge here. I think it would be a good idea if you manage to recall our people back on board, but without much fuss. There's something very weird going on here. I don't want anyone else getting into trouble."

"Understood, Captain."

"Anything, Lieutenant?"

Uhura shook her head.

"Captain Radek is not in his quarters and he's not answering his personal line."

"Keep trying," Kirk said. "Let me know the moment you find him. Let's go, Bones."

"I'll need to grab my medikit, Jim," McCoy said. "I want to check Spock out for myself."

"Fine, meet me at the airlock in five minutes. Scotty, if anything else comes up, call me immediately."

"Aye, Captain. Good luck."

"Thanks," Kirk grunted. "Let's hope we won't need it."


	3. Three

**Three**

"Is th't wh't y' c'll j'st'ce, h'man?" the enraged Legourian demanded in his clicking vowel-poor manner, hovering over Commander Britty. "We d'mand imm'diate extrad't'n."

"There will be no extradition without a trial," Britty growled, rising up from his chair, losing his patience. "The crime was committed on Federation soil, under Starfleet jurisdiction. Until we revoke this jurisdiction from the accused, he's subject to our laws."

"Th's is 'utra'g's," the Legourian hissed angrily. "Y' w'll be h'ld r'sp's'ble."

"I don't even know what you just said," Britty snapped back. "Why are you in such a hurry anyway? He's not going anywhere."

"Our j'st'ce is s'ift. He is gu'lty. He m'st be p'nisssh'd."

"His guilt is not yet determined," Kirk said, getting frustrated with the conversation extremely fast. "I don't know about your laws, but here we believe that a man is innocent until proven guilty."

The tall alien rounded on him awkwardly. The Leagourians evolved from bird-like life forms. They were incredibly graceful in the air, but they were never quite surefooted on solid ground.

"Y' h've ev'd'nce. He's gu'lty. G've h'm t' us."

"No," came the low, cool voice of Commodore Wesley. "Not before the court-martial. If Commander Spock is guilty, his crime is not only against you, but also against Starfleet and the Federation. We have as much right to punish him as you do. Maybe even more."

"Akkrrrrghhhh!" the Legourian snarled at him, his head crest vibrating dangerously, before stalking out of the room.

"Charming fellow," McCoy commented.

"You see what we're dealing with, Jim?" Britty sighed in exasperation. "I don't know what has possibly gotten into your First Officer, though if his conversations with them were as pleasant as that, I'm beginning to see his motive."

"Commander," Lieutenant Barns interrupted him firmly. "I suggest you don't say anything insulting regarding our Legourian partners."

"Oh, give it a rest, Lindsey," Britty waved at her tiredly, sinking back into his chair. "Who do you think is going to report me here?" He looked at Kirk again. "I mean it, Jim, talk to him. I have no sympathy for what he's done, but the idea of surrendering even Chikatilo to this lot is kind of unnerving."

"Who's that?" McCoy asked.

Lieutenant Barns opened her mouth, but Kirk cut her off, obviously not interested in discussing serial killers.

"Aren't you getting ahead of yourself, Warren?" he asked stiffly. "Nothing's been proven yet."

"Jim—"

"He's right," Wesley cut in. "Commander Spock has been an exemplary officer for many years. The least he deserves from his peers is the benefit of the doubt."

Britty bristled indignantly.

"The evidence is conclusive, Commodore."

"I agree," Wesley nodded. "That's why I'm not advocating you letting him go. But Jim knows him better than any of us. I've got to tell you, Commander, if that was my first officer, I would have been dubious, too, evidence or no."

"Fine, go ahead, Jim," Britty waved at him irritably.

"You shouldn't," Barns stepped forward suddenly, looking at Kirk. "First of all, Commander Spock has declined the services of a counsel. Second of all, it's bad enough we have one high ranking officer mixed up in this scandal. We don't need another one, particularly not Captain James T. Kirk."

"Oh?" Kirk raised his eyebrows ironically. "Am I considered some sort of a divine entity? Am I too good to step in for a man who saved my life a dozen times over?"

"You're letting a sense of false gratitude obscure your vision," she said angrily. "That is not becoming an officer of command rank."

"Don't you think it's presumptuous of you to be lecturing a captain on what's becoming a command officer, Lieutenant?" Wesley asked her coldly.

She turned to him, not one bit abashed.

"I'm just doing my job, Commodore."

"And you're doing it well," Kirk relented. "But right now, if no one has further objections, I really need to speak to my First Officer."

"Doctor McCoy, where are you going?" Britty asked, as McCoy turned to follow Kirk. "I don't remember giving you permission to visit."

McCoy whirled on the spot.

"Commander, I may not be the greatest adept in terms of regulations, but I assure you, those concerning medical service I can quote you chapter and verse. Unless you want me to recite the whole damned article about treating prisoners, or send a message to the Surgeon General's office and ask him to inform the C in C about your abuse of authority, I suggest you give me that permission right away!"

Britty sank further into his chair, as if McCoy's tirade had had a physical impact on him. Wesley chuckled softly and shook his head.

"Never argue with doctors, Commander," he said lamely. "It's bad for your health."

"Lieutenant?" Britty looked at Barns for support.

She frowned and pursed her lips in disapproval, but admitted reluctantly, "Doctor McCoy is Commander Spock's personal physician. If you deny him access, he can ask for a formal hearing and will most likely win the case."

Britty sighed.

"Very well. But I was only trying to protect you, Doctor."

"Much obliged," McCoy grunted sarcastically. "Now, can we go?"

At Britty's resigned nod, Kirk and McCoy were finally able to leave his office.

* * *

Raised voices brought him out of his meditative state long before he saw the source. Of course, Spock thought with resigned certainty, as he recognized the voice. There were certain things in this universe no logic could prevent nor foresee. Cataclysms, natural catastrophes, spatial anomalies, James T. Kirk. The Vulcan sighed quietly and got to his feet, knowing that the security guard stood no chance whatsoever.

In a moment, he heard approaching footsteps and lifted his head to meet his captain's irritated stare. McCoy entered the frame of the security screen half a second later.

"Captain," Spock inclined his head. "Doctor."

"Drop this damn thing, will you?" McCoy shouted over his shoulder.

The forcefield came down, and both humans stepped inside the cell. The barrier went back into place. For a long uncomfortable moment, the small space was cramped with nothing but silence, as the three of them stared at each other. Spock was silently gauging the Captain's mood and came to no reassuring conclusions. Kirk was angry. What was more, he was angry with Spock, and, as Spock amended quietly to himself, with good reason.

"I do not believe it is appropriate for you to be here," Spock noted carefully.

"I'm here as your counsel," Kirk said, with frightening lack of expression.

"I refused the services of a counsel."

"Really?" Kirk sneered. "Well, that's just too bad, because you need one."

"Captain," Spock exhaled softly. "I appreciate your concern, however—"

"I don't think you do, Mister," Kirk cut him off curtly. "I have moved heaven and earth to get to you, and I think the least you can do to show that supposed appreciation of yours is to tell me what the hell's going on."

For a moment, Spock's eyes remained trapped within his furious gaze, but then the Vulcan blinked and looked away, taking several steps across the tiny room.

"I do not know what is going on," he said quietly after a while. "It would be illogical for you to get involved."

"Why?" Kirk's tone, though not rising, was unmistakably snappish.

"You reputation is at stake here, Captain. I do not wish to compromise it."

Kirk nodded abruptly.

"In other words, you don't believe that anyone as illogical as me can be of any use to you now. I'm certain you find me not qualified enough to help you."

Spock's head snapped up sharply, eyes locking with Kirk's.

"I did not say that, Captain."

"Then what _did_ you say, Mr. Spock?"

Spock hesitated, aware of the extreme thinness of the ice he was stepping on.

"I merely meant that it would be illogical for you to involve yourself in a murder case, when the evidence is so condemning and the chances of a successful resolution are less than 1 to 792.4. I cannot even give you assurances that I am not guilty."

If looks had real firepower, Spock would have been turned into a smoking pile of debris.

"So I should just what, leave you here?" Kirk asked, fighting to control his outrage and hurt and losing spectacularly. "Forget I ever knew you? _Disassociate_ myself from you, as some have suggested?"

"Captain—"

"Good God, Spock. You really believe I could do that? What am I, a captain for sunny weather? What have I ever done to deserve this level of disrespect from you?"

"Captain, I do not—"

"Tell me, would you walk away from me if our positions were reversed? Would you?"

Spock looked at him, almost startled by the question.

"No."

Kirk laughed darkly and shook his head.

"No," he repeated. "But you don't think I'm as trustworthy as you are. You don't think I have the same integrity in me. Well, Mr. Spock. That explains a great deal."

Spock was staring at him blankly. He had done it yet again, he realized through the dull staccato of his pulse, deafening his senses. He tried to keep everyone out of harm's way and ended up insulting them. Him. He had no idea how to make it right.

"Jim," McCoy stepped in between them, and Spock silently blessed his timing. "Why don't you take a couple of deep breaths and give us some room? I need to check Spock out."

Instantly, Spock's wariness came back full force.

"I have already been examined, Doctor," he said, even as McCoy pointed his scanner at him. "What is it you believe you can find that the others did not?"

"The reason for your memory loss maybe," McCoy replied with uncharacteristic calmness, gentleness even. He was talking to Spock as he would to a nervous and edgy colt, who could not understand his language, but hopefully would pick up on his tone. "Those people know nothing of your physiology. They might have missed something."

"I hardly find that probable," Spock snapped before he knew it.

"Well," McCoy favored him with a mild smile. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that? Hold out your hand, Spock."

Irritated and fighting to suppress it, Spock did as he was bid. McCoy, he noted with grim satisfaction, knew better than to touch him.

"Aren't we all wound up," the Doctor muttered absently under his breath. His eyes suddenly narrowed as he studied the results on the display. "That's odd."

"What's odd?" Kirk demanded immediately.

"Hold up a minute, Jim." McCoy frowned, fully engrossed in his examination. "Spock, take a seat."

"Doctor, I hardly find—"

McCoy glanced at him sternly. With an impatient air, Spock sat down.

"Look up at me," McCoy ordered.

Spock complied and almost instantly winced, as his eyes fixed on the light panel.

"Shh, easy now," McCoy said automatically, catching Spock's chin with a trained hand before the reflex made him recoil. "I know it hurts, Spock, I know. Bear with me for just a moment. Don't close your eyes."

The Vulcan stilled. Seconds stretched, and finally Kirk's patience all but collapsed.

"Bones, you're torturing him."

"Get a grip on yourself, Captain. I'm almost done. There."

The moment he let go of Spock, the Vulcan shrank away until his back was flat against the wall. He was blinking somewhat slowly, as if trying to refocus his vision.

"Report, Doctor," Kirk snapped.

McCoy put away his equipment and looked at him calmly.

"He's been drugged, Jim. I can't tell you how, but I definitely read the signs of an intoxicant in his bloodstream."

"Impossible," Spock said. "The Starbase doctor would have detected—"

"Well, he didn't, Spock," McCoy croaked irritably. "And I can't say I'm surprised. Apart from him apparently not trying very hard, the best he would have calibrated his system for would be for Vulcans. And while your physiology is _primarily_ Vulcan, it has foreign elements, human elements. I don't mean this to offend you, but you wouldn't be a hybrid if it didn't."

"I am not offended by the statement of a biological fact," Spock told him dryly. "Are you saying those human elements have prevented the scans from being accurate?"

"As you're so fond of saying, colloquially put but essentially correct," McCoy returned acidly. He looked back at Kirk. "I knew there was something wrong with his blood, and when I scanned his eyes, I was certain. I bet his night vision is sharper than a bat's at the moment. Just look at his pupils. I exposed his eyes to light for a while, and look what happened."

Kirk made eye contact with Spock briefly, and both of them looked away simultaneously. McCoy pretended not to notice.

"A simple scan wouldn't have caught it. I'll need to run further analysis, of course, but right now I'm pretty sure he's been shot with a potent extract of belladonna." He glanced at the Vulcan, and his tone softened. "Spock, don't blink so hard, better sit with your eyes closed for a minute."

Spock stopped blinking, but didn't close his eyes, either.

"Belladonna?" Kirk repeated, perplexed. "Isn't that—"

"An Earth plant," Spock said, concerned. "It's renowned for its sedative potential, as well as the ability to induce hallucinations."

"Isn't it unusual to have it in stock here in space?" Kirk asked. He was still pointedly not looking at the Vulcan.

"Not really," McCoy shook his head. "When properly refined, it's a good natural sedative, pretty mild in small dosages. In fact, I keep some in Sick Bay. But its effect on Vulcans is different. The smallest amount is enough to knock them out cold for a good while. In fact," he added with a wry smirk, "it's not unlike the effect a nerve pinch has on humans."

"I would disagree," Spock said gloomily. "A nerve pinch does not leave one with prolonged side effects."

"Like a hangover?" McCoy asked him sweetly. "No, I don't think it does. The good news is you'll be back to normal in several hours."

"The question is how he got drugged," Kirk said. "Anything he had at the bar perhaps?"

Spock shook his head.

"All I had was Altair water, and I believe I would have started to feel the effects sooner if it had been spiked."

McCoy nodded to Kirk. "He's got you there. He would have been seeing weird shapes and colors long before he'd pass out."

"I believe it is safe to assume that it was not an accident," Spock said dryly.

"Maybe your friend Captain Radek saw something you didn't," Kirk said. "Too bad we can't seem to find him anywhere."

"Luca is missing?" Spock asked immediately, alarm ringing clearly in his voice.

Kirk fixed him with a hard stare.

"You know, your concern for him is touching, considering that none of this would have happened if it weren't for him in the first place."

Slowly, Spock rose to his feet, effectively changing the angle of eye contact between them.

"I fail to see how any of what had happened is his fault, Captain," he said coolly. "He did not force me to take part in these activities. He merely offered it and I said yes. I was off duty. I resent the implication that by agreeing I have done something wrong."

"Other than choosing to spend your time with someone who gets drunk without thinking of the consequences, you sure did nothing wrong, Mr. Spock." Kirk smirked darkly. "Frankly, I'm surprised at you. I always thought someone as logical and rational as you would be more responsible when picking the company he keeps."

"Indeed? Then perhaps next time I will consult you on the subject, given that you are an unprecedented expert on choosing companionship responsibly when you are on shore leave."

Kirk's eyes narrowed, his whole body tensed, preparing to fight.

"_What did you just say_?"

McCoy stepped in between them warily, looking almost ready to duck.

"Jim! Spock! Dammit, knock it off, both of you!" He snapped, voice crackling with tension. "This is productive as hell."

But it took another long moment for Spock to shake his head as if trying to clear it and step back. Kirk continued to glare at him, but some of the urgency left his posture until he no longer appeared ready to spring forward. McCoy took a deep calming breath.

"We determined that him being drugged was not an accident," he reminded them pointedly.

Kirk merely scoffed, taking a couple of steps aside to still himself.

"Indeed, Doctor," Spock nodded, addressing the wall. "The question is why would I want to assassinate the Legourian Ambassador while being in an altered state of mind?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," McCoy bristled. "You didn't kill anyone, Spock. Haven't you been listening? The Vulcan brain works differently than a human one. If you had been experiencing hallucinations, out-of-body wanderings, an altered state of mind or whatever other crap you might come up with, you'd remember it! Not clearly perhaps, but you'd be aware that you were up to something. It's a foregone conclusion that you were completely dead to the world when the blasted Legourian was being murdered. If I could prove it, you'd be out of here this instant, but I hope _you_ at least will bow to my judgment. The question is therefore—why would _anyone_ want to kill him and then point the finger at you?"

Spock looked at him, shaken and mildly impressed.

"Your line of reasoning is... surprisingly logical, Doctor."

McCoy stared at him and then harrumphed indignantly.

"Jim's right. You're an arrogant son of a bitch."

Kirk, who was doing an admirable job of keeping his temper at bay, looked at Spock coldly.

"Whoever that someone was, he must have crossed paths with you at some point. The last time Scotty saw you was at the bar, and you were arrested on the promenade. Where were you during those missing hours?"

Spock considered the facts that he did know.

"In Luca's quarters," he said slowly, deep in thought, not even noticing his slip into informality again. "He has assigned quarters on the station. That was where I woke up. I believe during those missing hours I was there."

"Doing what?" Kirk snapped.

Spock closed his eyes briefly. 'I do not know' sounded ridiculous to his own ears. So he went for the next best thing, a statement of physical truth born from his condition. He did not remember. Therefore...

"I cannot tell you."

"_What_?"

Startled out of his musings, Spock looked up at Kirk and realized immediately that it was a very, very wrong thing to say. Kirk looked belligerent; he actually started at the Vulcan.

"Jim." McCoy's voice was uncharacteristically quiet, as he blocked the Captain's path. "I think this has gone far enough. We won't make any progress this way."

"Back off, Bones, I need to nail this down or I'll—"

"No, you don't," McCoy's grip on his forearm tightened. He was pulling Kirk determinedly towards the corridor. "Guard!" he shouted. "We're done here!"

"Bones, what the hell are you doing? I'm not finished!"

"Yes, you are," the CMO's voice was steel. "Guard! Get this damned forcefield down!"

The forcefield dropped at that very moment, and McCoy lost no time tugging Kirk out seconds before it went up again.

"Spock, we'll sort this out," McCoy sent over his shoulder.

Spock didn't answer. He couldn't begin to understand what had just happened. He only knew that his emotions were in turmoil, and he was vaguely aware that he had said a lot of things that were illogical, unreasonable, and most importantly, inappropriate. He couldn't fathom what made him do it. Why did he see provocation in every word the Captain had spoken? Why, for that matter, did he allow himself to be provoked? Was the drug still affecting him?

He closed his eyes. It wasn't the first time he had been subjected to Kirk's anger. It had never had that effect on him before. Why was he suddenly so defensive? And why was Jim attacking him so ferociously? So far, Spock had only seen him on the verge of losing control when his command was threatened. But there was no sign of it here. Why was Jim so... upset with him? So furious? He, Spock, had been an inconvenience to his captain and to his ship many times before. Yet nothing remotely close to what had just occurred had ever happened previously.

Why?

With a streak of shame, Spock realized he was concentrating on the wrong issue. Instead of analyzing the situation with the Legourian, he had devoted himself to entirely irrelevant matters. A most regrettable slip. He seemed to have a lot of those lately. If he didn't cease this illogical behavior soon, he'd have a lot of time to dwell on it, being locked up in a Legourian prison. Provided, of course, he'd live long enough.

Spock sighed and resumed his analysis.

* * *

"What the hell do you think you're doing, McCoy?" Kirk rounded on him the moment they cleared the detention area.

His CMO ignored him, stalking into a deserted gangway. Having made sure they were alone, he turned to face Kirk.

"Showing reason," he said, not the tiniest bit intimidated by Kirk's glare. "You were way out of control in there, Jim. And as weird as it may sound, so was Spock. I've never seen you two at each other's throats like this before."

"I only wanted to know—"

"What? You wanted to know what, Jim? Granted, he was an ass suggesting you should step out, but this is Spock at his best. Or worst, depending on how you look at it. I half-expected him to try and pull off something like that, and don't tell me you didn't, too."

"I thought he'd trust me by now."

"He _does_ trust you. Remember his... I mean our detour to Vulcan? You were the only one who got him to talk. Dammit, Jim, what is wrong with you? You walk in there as his legal counsel and end up grilling him over his free time activities. You gave him a harder time than my mother gave me when I was fourteen and snuck out of my bedroom window to get to my first ever date."

"Were you accused of murder on your 'first ever date'?" Kirk asked impatiently. "This isn't personal, Bones."

"The hell it isn't! You should have seen yourself in there, Jim. I could have sworn you were channeling my ex-wife at times!"

"I was only trying to determine the facts."

"Oh, is _that_ what you were doing? You might wanna try it with Scotty sometime, see how quickly it gets you a cracked jaw."

"Dammit, Bones! He's my First Officer. When I ask him a question the least I expect is to get a straight answer."

"Oh, for the love of me," McCoy rolled his eyes. "Did you really need him to spell it out for you? Jim, I really think you're old enough to have a vague idea of what happens when two people leave a bar together."

Kirk stopped short.

"You think it was... like that?" he asked, suddenly quiet. "That's what he's hiding?"

"I don't know," McCoy said curtly. "I don't even know if it's possible, given that Spock is Vulcan and all that crap. But I do know one thing. If it's possible and if it happened, it's none of my business. And quite frankly, Captain, it's none of yours."

Kirk was silent for a very long time. McCoy watched him, thinking that at times his friend's expression was as inscrutable as that of Spock's. He was frowning, but apart from that, the direction his reflections were taking remained a mystery. Finally, he looked up at the Doctor.

"No," he said calmly. "You're wrong, Bones. It _is_ my business. By all accounts, Radek was the last one to see Spock before the arrest team. They went to his quarters. Spock said he had woken up there. It is imperative that we find this guy. There are only two possibilities here. He will either confirm that he and Spock were together during the time of murder and then Spock has an alibi. Or he is the culprit we are looking for and the one who has set Spock up."

McCoy's jaw dropped.

"You think _Radek_ killed the Ambassador?"

"I don't know," Kirk shrugged. "But don't you think it's strange that he's nowhere to be found? Scotty says he and Spock are close friends. The news that Spock has been arrested is all over the station, and I'm betting half the quadrant. So where is this friend of his? If I were in his place, I'd show more interest in a person I had only just met than he does in someone he had known for years. It doesn't make sense to me."

"I hadn't thought about that," McCoy said pensively. "But Jim. If he is the culprit, why is Spock so protective of him?"

"I don't know." Kirk's face darkened. "That's what's bugging me. There may be more to what Spock's trying to hide here than his hypothetical date."

"Jim," McCoy looked at him, stunned. "You don't think he actually _is_ involved in this murder?"

Kirk shook his head.

"Oh, he's involved all right. The question is how. And Spock's attitude is not helping."

"Well," McCoy drawled rather dryly. "Neither is yours."

Kirk looked at him with a soft and suddenly warm smile.

"You're implying I was jealous?" He sighed. "Okay, maybe I was. But it's not what you think."

McCoy snorted, clasping Kirk's shoulder.

"Jim, I guarantee you, you don't want to know what I think. Just—don't scare me like that again. For a moment there, I thought I ended up between a rock and a hard place."

"I'll do my best, Doctor," Kirk assured him. "Come on, Bones. We don't have much time."

* * *

"Lieutenant Sanders to Bridge."

"Scott here."

"Mr. Scott, I'm at the main airlock..."

Scott frowned at the strange halt in the report.

"Aye, Lieutenant, I remember. Do we have everyone on board?"

"Almost, sir. But that's not why I'm contacting you. There's a Lieutenant Kerr here, sir. She insists on speaking to you."

"Really?" Scott raised his eyebrows and grinned. "I'll be right there."

Uhura nodded at him before he had the time to give the order.

"Aye, Mr. Scott, I have the Bridge."

"Good lass," he chuckled.

Sure enough, there was Sinead, looking strangely nervous. She was standing just inside the doorway, dancing on the balls of her feet. The Security officer was eyeing her suspiciously. Scotty grinned at her broadly.

"Lassie, I thought you'd be all tied up with the change of command today," he said, closing in on her.

She looked at him strangely, then placed her hand on his arm and steered him farther away from the mainstream.

"Scotty," she said quietly and very seriously. "We need to talk."

Scott had a feeling he wasn't going to like this conversation.

* * *

The immediate darkness that followed the strange sound he'd only just caught was complete. His night vision, which was pretty impressive by nature and still heightened by the drug allowed Spock to see his surroundings just fine. He looked up from the bunk he was sitting on at the rippling veil of the forcefield just in time to see it drop. He stood up quietly, ready to face whatever was coming.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" a voice cut the darkness from outside the cell. "We don't have much time, Spock."

Still silently, Spock stepped into the corridor and looked at the dark silhouette facing him.

"Luca," he said, not at all surprised for some reason. "What are you doing here?"

The darkness shifted impatiently.

"Getting your ass out of here, Spock, what do you think?"

"But..." the Vulcan stumbled, failing to comprehend. "This is illegal. I was lawfully arrested and should stay here until I'm tried."

"Spock, listen to me," Luca stepped closer to him, coming to point blank range. "If you stay here, you won't live long enough to see your trial."

"I do not understand. Do you know anything about what is happening?"

"I know everything about what is happening, but I don't have time to explain. I need you to trust me. Please, Spock. I have never lied to you."

Spock hesitated another moment, then spoke quietly.

"I will go with you if you tell me who killed the Legourian Ambassador."

In the darkness, he saw Luca tilting his head.

"Fine," the human said resolutely. "I did. As I'm sure you figured out by now."

"I had my doubts."

"We really need to go, Spock. They'll be here any minute."

"They?"

"No time."

Spock suppressed a sigh and nodded curtly, decision made.

"Lead the way."


	4. Four

**Four**

Kirk strode onto the Bridge with a question on the ready, but stopped short as he glanced at the center seat, which was conspicuously empty. He rounded on Uhura midstride.

"Lieutenant, where is Mr. Scott?"

She was obviously deeply engrossed in her own work, because at his words she actually looked over her shoulder to make sure Scott wasn't there.

"He's, uh..."

She took a moment too long to gather her thoughts.

"Uhura, if you tell me now you managed to lose another senior officer when I wasn't here, I'll be sure to hold it against you," Kirk told her menacingly.

She gave him a look, which clearly said, 'Keep your shirt on, Captain.' Kirk backed off slightly.

"He's signaling right now, sir," Uhura said, pulling out her earpiece. "Should I put him on?"

Kirk nodded.

"Scott to Bridge. Is the Captain back yet?"

"I'm here, Scotty. Where are you?"

"Briefing Room One, sir. I was wondering if ye could join me. We have a guest here, and I really think ye should hear this."

"I'm on my way. Kirk out. Damn," he said, massaging his neck tiredly. "What now. Uhura, tell McCoy to join us in the briefing room."

"Yes, sir. Oh, Captain?"

Kirk looked back at her.

"Sir, we have just received orders to maintain radio silence."

Kirk lifted his eyebrows and folded his arms across his chest.

"From whom?" he asked, somewhat quieter.

"Admiral Roamen, sir. Here's the order," she handed him a padd.

Kirk studied it, frowning. It wasn't of course out of the ordinary that one of the admirals outside their usual pool would give them an order, but it wasn't exactly everyday occurrence either. Particularly not when the admiral in question was one of the top officers in Starfleet Intelligence. The order, Kirk noted, was not only addressed to the _Enterprise_, but in fact to every Starfleet vessel or facility in the quadrant, including the Starbase itself.

"Did you ask for confirmation?"

"Yes, sir," Uhura nodded, playing with her stylus pensively. "There was a rather vague word about some kind of maneuvers in the area."

"Really?" Kirk repeated skeptically. "And we weren't informed?"

She shrugged at him, as if to say, 'You know what I know.' Kirk nodded, giving her the padd back, and started towards the turbolift.

That was not unprecedented, but unusual. SI did ask sometimes for a 'green corridor' of sorts for their operatives, but traditionally, starships were forewarned. That the order should arrive at this particular moment wasn't exactly reassuring.

McCoy caught up with him as he was closing in on the briefing room.

"Jim, I don't see how I'm going to get any work done with you asking me to tag along wherever you go," the Doctor grumbled.

"I don't want to be repeating myself later," Kirk said, as they walked through the doors together.

"Captain," Scotty got up from his seat.

So did the young woman sitting to his left. She was, Kirk decided, somewhere between twenty-five and thirty, probably closer to thirty. Her chestnut hair was gathered in a ponytail. Her dancing blue eyes peered over the newcomers calmly, as she straightened herself to full height with natural dignity. She wasn't what most men would call pretty, but her open, friendly face was attractive by means of the palpable kindness and cheerfulness it transmitted. Finishing his quick survey, Kirk concluded that she must have one hell of a smile.

Right now though, she wasn't smiling, and there were definite notes of tension to her posture. She wore Command gold, but Kirk didn't recognize her insignia.

"This is Lieutenant Sinead Kerr of the USS _Adventure_," Scott introduced her. "Sinead, this is Captain Kirk. Doctor McCoy."

"Good to have you aboard, Lieutenant," Kirk said politely, gesturing for everyone to sit down. He looked at the young woman more closely. "Did you say _Adventure_?"

"Yes, sir," she spoke in an unexpectedly low voice. "I'm her First Officer. I am, in fact, in temporary command." She paused, looking briefly at her hands, clasped on the table, as if willing herself to continue. "Captain, I'm not sure my being here is appropriate, but Mr. Scott said," she spared a short nervous glance at the Engineer, who gave her an encouraging nod, "Mr. Scott said that you won't be likely to report me to Command for overstepping my bounds."

Kirk shot Scott an amused look.

"Why Mr. Scott," he said in mock puzzlement. "I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted."

The Engineer favored him with a wry smirk.

"Whichever ye prefer, sir."

Kirk shook his head softly. In a way, that was touching. When he had assumed command of the _Enterprise_ two and a half years ago, Spock and Scotty had been his two main irritants. They didn't trust him and had a way of showing it without actually being insubordinate, which annoyed him even more. He made a real effort of conquest with those two, his usual charming smile and easy going disposition having no effect on either of them whatsoever. It had been a labor, he mused with mild irony. But it paid off.

"I don't want you to get false ideas about me, Lieutenant," he told Kerr. "But I promise, I won't pass hasty judgment."

Now, there was someone with whom his smile worked. To an extent, though, but still, it was comforting.

"It started three weeks ago," Kerr spoke, obviously having decided to meet her fate. "When the _Adventure_ was released from Utopia Planitia, I was ordered to take it here, to Starbase 16, for Captain Radek to assume command. I was happy with the assignment, Captain," she said, somewhat softer. "I have served with Luca, I mean, Captain Radek before, and I consider him a good friend."

Kirk sighed and muttered under his breath, "Is there anyone left in the fleet who doesn't?"

"Two days into our journey, I received some rather strange orders," Kerr continued. "The _Adventure_ is a _Hermes_-class, Captain, by definition fast and maneuverable. Our top speed is warp 9.9." At these words, Scott nodded his approval. "Yet, we were ordered to decrease our speed to warp one for the whole trip. It made no sense because this way it took us three weeks to get here, when we could have been here in one. And that's not all. We were also ordered to maintain strict radio silence. Once we arrived here, we weren't allowed to dock, but ordered to orbit the base instead."

"Those are indeed unusual orders, Lieutenant," Kirk said, frowning slightly. "Would you mind if I ask you who gave them?"

"Admiral Chen."

"Of Starfleet Security?"

"Yes, sir."

"I thought the _Hermes_-class were meant primarily for SI," McCoy broke in.

"Not us," Kerr shook her head. "The _Adventure_ is supposed to be a science and exploration vessel. In fact, our first assignment is to pick up a science team on Remmel II and proceed to the Rings of Berenale. That's the only reason I agreed to serve as her First Officer and transferred to Command. Intelligence is simply not my kind of service."

"Sometimes we don't have the luxury to choose," Kirk noted grimly. "Was that all you wanted to tell me?"

"No, sir," she licked her lips nervously. "When we arrived here, I met with Captain Radek on the station and asked him if he knew anything about those orders. He said no, but I had a feeling it wasn't the whole truth. He wasn't surprised when I told him."

"And that is unusual?"

She shrugged, a bit helplessly.

"Luca is a pretty open person, Captain. He doesn't like keeping secrets and he's bad at it."

"I see," Kirk nodded. "Go on."

"Well, as you know, we went to a bar to 'relax before the execution' as he had put it. He isn't fond of official ceremonies," Kerr explained with a lenient smile. "Anyway, he was supposed to contact me in the morning to confirm our final arrangements. When he didn't, I tried to raise him, but to no effect. I thought he was indisposed after the party, and decided to wait. I beamed to the station since I had to go over some paperwork with the supply team. I was approached twice by some Security officers, whom I didn't know, who asked me if Captain Radek had spent the night on the ship. I found that odd, Captain. I asked them who they were and why that was of any concern of theirs, but they instantly apologized and left."

"That's pretty strange," Kirk admitted.

"I thought so, too. After all, if Security needed to find him, they could have made a general search, right? They could have made station-wide calls or simply ordered search parties. But instead, it was just that—a couple of officers asking strange questions. I was worried then. I went to Luca's quarters."

Kirk sat up a little straighter and exchanged a meaningful look with McCoy.

"Maybe that was a little presumptuous," Kerr said, her cheeks coloring slightly. "But I thought maybe something had happened, and that he might have needed help."

"What did you find?"

She shook her head.

"At first, nothing. The room was clean and tidy. The bed was rumpled but made up, I don't think anybody actually slept in it. Luca's things were still there, but there was no sign of him. I..." she hesitated. "I activated his computer terminal. I only wanted to find out f maybe he had some sort of appointment, that's all."

"And?" Kirk prompted with a soft smile.

"It was empty but for several deleted transmissions. But they were deleted hastily, and I managed to recover the sender coding."

"Impressive," Kirk said. "Are you a computer specialist, Lieutenant?"

She blushed, and Scotty chuckled.

"That was her brother, Captain. Johnny had a real knack for computer hacking. Guess he taught her everything he knew."

"Not everything," Kerr said self-consciously.

"Is your brother in the service?"

"He... was, sir," she said quietly.

"Johnny died during the last Klingon campaign, Captain," Scott said. "Sinead decided to join the fleet after he died."

"You knew him well?" Kirk addressed Scott, giving the young woman time to regroup.

"Aye, sir. He served on the _Enterprise_ for a while."

"I see. I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Kerr."

"It's quite all right, Captain," she replied. "That was a very long time ago. Anyway, I recovered the sender's codes. The messages were sent from someone in the higher echelons of Starfleet Security. I didn't know what to do. I thought I should ask Mr. Spock if Luca had told him anything. But the moment I left Luca's quarters, I learned that Mr. Spock had been arrested. I was totally at a loss to explain any of it, Captain. And then another officer came to me and asked if I knew where Captain Radek was. I asked him if Security was looking for him, if he had done something wrong, but that man just walked away from me."

"And that's when you went to see Mr. Scott."

"Yes, sir," she nodded miserably. "Captain, I know I should have reported this to Commander Britty or Command, and that I broke regulations by not doing so. But I don't understand what is happening. All I know is this. I've known Luca Radek a long time, Captain. He may be many things, but he is not a criminal. I didn't want... I didn't want to do anything that might harm him."

"I see," Kirk said pensively. "I see." He glanced over at Scott and nodded. "Good thinking."

Scott acknowledged him with a brief, "Aye."

Kirk stood up and started to pace the room, pouring his thoughts into space.

"We seem to have some sort of a multi-tiered cake here. Layer one: Two Starfleet officers, both with excellent reputations, meet on the station by chance and have a little get-together. The next morning, one of them is arrested for murder and the other is missing. The first one had been drugged. The latter had apparently been in contact with Starfleet Security, but said Security doesn't seem overly concerned for his fate.

"Layer two. A dead Legourian Ambassador, killed under mysterious circumstances, and a hacked computer. His tribesmen are shouting for blood and overdoing it a little. What say you, Bones?"

"I agree," McCoy nodded, watching him with a concerned grimace. "Everything we know about them tells us they are benevolent and peaceful."

"Silent types, Britty said," Kirk recalled. "Yet that scene in his office would have made Shakespeare pale in comparison."

"They obviously don't like having their ambassadors killed," McCoy shrugged. "Though I suppose you're right, that was pretty temperamental."

"Do we know exactly the cause of death?" Kirk turned to him.

"He got his skull broken," McCoy said. "They didn't allow an autopsy, so there's no way to know for sure, but from the looks of it, he was hit on the head with a heavy object."

"Could he have fallen down and caused the same kind of damage?" Kirk asked.

McCoy's eyes narrowed.

"Given how fragile their bones are, yeah, I'd say it's possible. What are you getting at, Jim?"

"Nothing yet," Kirk shook his head. "So. Layer three. Starfleet Security shows an apparent interest in Captain Radek and his new command. More than that, Commodore Wesley, who currently is in Starfleet Security, conveniently arrives at the station. He doesn't pay any particular attention to Radek, but he's the only one who, despite the condemning evidence, insists that Spock deserves the benefit of the doubt. It's as if he believes in his innocence."

"And the only way he can be sure of that," Scott inserted, "is if he knows who did kill that Legourian."

"He knows Spock," McCoy didn't sound convinced. "Maybe he just doesn't think Spock could have done it."

"No," Kirk shook his head. "Wesley doesn't like Spock and doesn't trust him. He was suspicious of him from day one, and that was a very ugly scene after the debriefing on that M5 business. The Commodore was convinced Spock could have stopped it but hadn't."

"He lost a lot of men there," McCoy said quietly.

Kirk nodded thoughtfully.

"I know. But I still say he'd only be defending Spock if he was one hundred percent sure Spock's innocent." Kirk paused, clasping his hands behind his back. "I'll have you know, gentlemen, Lieutenant, that a short time ago every Starfleet vessel in the quadrant was ordered to maintain radio silence. The orders came from Starfleet Intelligence."

"That's not a coincidence," McCoy said. "They were SI people who worked with the Legourians, Jim. They orchestrated the whole damn application ceremony. They are way too much invested in this."

"I agree," Kirk said. "The question is, where does all this leave us?"

Scott shifted in the descending silence, looking over the others with the air of a man who had been holding back for some time. He waited a moment longer, then decided it had been long enough.

"Captain," he said somberly. "I don't know what it looks like to ye, sir. But from where I'm sitting, it sounds awfully like a Big Game."

Kirk stared at him, dumbstruck. So did McCoy.

"Scotty," the Captain uttered, suddenly hoarse. "You're serious?"

"Aye," the Engineer nodded grimly. "I wish I was joking."

"A Big Game," Kirk muttered, astounded. "A Big Game."

"What's a Big Game?" Kerr asked, looking anxiously from one to the others.

Nobody answered her. Kirk sat down heavily, staring into space, immobile as a statue. Both McCoy and Scott watched him fixedly. Scott's gaze was mildly concerned; McCoy's—clearly frightened, though what he was afraid of wasn't clear. Several long moments passed, before the Captain seemed to reach a decision.

Kirk reached out and pressed the comm panel.

"Kirk to Bridge." His voice was unnaturally even.

"Uhura here."

"Lieutenant, I need you to take me off the speaker."

"One moment, sir. You're off."

"Good. Uhura, I'm about to give you one of the special orders. No discussion, none whatsoever. Immediate implementation."

"I read you, Captain," she said, as calm as if they were talking about the weather. "What is your order?"

Kirk took a deep breath and spoke the words that had not been heard aboard a starship for a good fifty years.

"Close the doors."

Not for the first time, and definitely not for the last, he felt proud of how professional his Bridge crew was, and especially Uhura. There was hardly a second of delay before she spoke in the same calm, leveled voice.

"Aye, Captain. Relaying and implementing."

"Kirk out," he closed the channel.

McCoy stood up and walked over to him. Before Kirk could so much as open his mouth to protest, the Doctor bent his head forward unceremoniously and pressed a hypo to his neck.

"Ouch, Bones!" the Captain exclaimed, recoiling from him. "What the hell was that?"

"Just a muscle relaxant," McCoy said, resuming his seat. "I got tired of hearing your neck creak. I suspect none of us are going to get any sleep any time soon."

Kirk studied him carefully.

"I take it you know what a Big Game is then, Bones? I didn't think you had access to that kind of information."

"Don't need any," McCoy gave him a thin smile. "When one's been around for as long as I have, one's bound to hear some things. I've never been party to one, though."

"Looks like this is your big chance," Kirk grunted. He looked over at Kerr. "You understand you'll be staying with us, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir," she gave him a dry smile. "I do know what _close the doors_ means."

"Then I guess it's time to enlighten you on the rest of it," Kirk smiled, tiredly, but sincerely. "You asked what a Big Game is. I can only tell you that if you don't know, you're very lucky. A Big Game is an unofficial term used to describe a situation when two or more Starfleet agencies play against each other due to some sort of major disagreement on some issue, sometimes without knowing it."

She stared at him, while trying to assimilate this.

"But isn't that... illegal?"

Kirk shrugged, somewhat ironically.

"As it happens, there have only been two Big Games so far in the history of Starfleet, and both times the legal issues were, shall we say, unclear. Each party thought it served the interests of the Federation best."

"Which doesn't change the fact that technically it's still mutiny," Scott said. "Though the 'players' might not realize it at the time."

"Well, Scotty," McCoy grunted, eyeing him suspiciously. "And here I was thinking you're an engineer, not a politician."

"Aye, and I thought ye were a doctor, not a terrorist," Scott returned, without missing a beat.

McCoy blushed scarlet red.

"How many times do I have to say sorry for that blasted replicator?" he hissed. "I didn't know it would do that!"

"There's a reason why unauthorized personnel isn't supposed to—"

"Gentlemen," Kirk raised a restraining hand, stopping Scotty's retort mid-word. "Entertaining as it may be, now is hardly the time. Now, let's see. It's been four minutes since I gave the order. If Giotto doesn't show up in the next thirty seconds..."

The doors swooshed open, and the Security Chief walked in, carrying a coffee pot and a bunch of peculiar looking bracelets. Behind him, two Security guards could be seen stationed at the doors.

"Captain. Gentlemen," Giotto nodded to each in turn. "Lieutenant Kerr."

She looked up at him, startled that he knew her name. Scott patted her arm reassuringly. Kirk grinned at the sight of the coffee pot.

"I didn't know you doubled as room service, Commander."

"Your Yeoman hasn't been cleared for alpha-duty yet," Giotto said coolly, placing the pot on the table. "And I had reasons to believe you are going to need it."

"Bless you," McCoy said, reaching to pour a cup.

Giotto proceeded with giving each of them a bracelet.

"The ship is secured, Captain," he said matter-of-factly. "Alpha-clearance personnel are on duty."

"Good," Kirk nodded, locking the bracelet on his left hand.

"Captain, I need to get back to Engineering," Scott said, standing up and locking his bracelet on the move.

"No, Scotty," Kirk stopped him. "I need you here. For the duration of this conundrum, you're my First Officer. Commander, are you logging that?"

Giotto nodded.

"Yes, Captain."

Scott's face fell, but he sat back down obediently. Kirk looked at Kerr appraisingly.

"Lieutenant, you said you only transferred to Command recently. What was your specialty before then?"

"I'm an exobiologist, Captain," she said, looking around warily.

"Close enough," Kirk said. "Giotto, clear her for alpha duty. She's the second officer and the science officer."

"Yes, sir." Giotto adjusted the identification bracelet before handing it to Kerr.

"All right, gentlemen," Kirk said, stretching his arm tentatively. "If nobody needs an immediate break, let's do some thinking."

Before they settled to work, however, the doors opened yet again, admitting a rather grim looking Uhura.

"Captain," she said, in that specific tone she used to warn him of bad news ahead. "I have just gotten word from the Starbase. Mr. Spock is no longer in the brig, sir. They say he has escaped. A major search has been opened. And Mr. Spock is wanted... alive or dead."

Everyone in the room stared at her in quiet shock. McCoy whistled softly.

"Somebody pinch me," he said. "We're still working for Starfleet, right? Because for a moment there, it sounded like Cosa Nostra." He shook his head incredulously and fixed a disbelieving glance on the Captain. "Jim. Aren't you going to say something?"

Kirk looked at him with strange impassivity.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked calmly. "We've closed the doors, Doctor. Whatever Spock's up to, he's on his own."

He turned away pointedly from the astounded look on McCoy's face.

* * *

"Am I to understand that your idea of a 'safe place' is the cargo hold of the Legourian vessel?" Spock asked, surveying his surroundings, while Luca closed the panel over the life support juncture.

"Hell, Spock, keep your voice down." The human straightened up, glancing around warily. "For the moment, it is the safest place for us, yes. Who do you think is going to look for us here?"

"The Legourian vessel is impenetrable to our sensors," Spock mused aloud. He looked at his companion, with some outward measure of respect. "Your brand of logic is... unorthodox. As usual."

"Why, thank you," Luca bowed to him sarcastically. "It's nice to know your sense of humor is intact."

"I was not joking."

"I know. Look, Spock, I know we have to talk—"

"Indeed," Spock interrupted him resolutely. "And since we have established that we are currently in no danger of being discovered, I suggest we talk now."

Luca measured him up with a glance.

"It almost sounds as if you don't trust me."

Spock's eyebrow lifted half an inch.

"Luca, I only agreed to go with you because you told me the truth about the Ambassador's death. Had it been your desire to deceive me further, you would have lied to me. But that does not change the fact that a lot of explaining is required of you."

"I know," Luca nodded. He sat down, leaning over the cargo hold wall, and grinned tiredly at Spock's questioning gaze. "It's a long story, Spock. We might as well get comfortable."

Spock didn't move, apart from folding his arms across his chest.

"Fine," Luca sighed. "Suit yourself. You... Spock, you're not going to like it."

"That is irrelevant."

"I doubt you'll say that when I'm done," Luca said. "But I have never lied to you before, Spock. Please believe me when I tell you that of all the things that happened that night, this one was the hardest on me."

Spock merely continued to watch him in silence, waiting for him to speak. Luca shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"I really wish I could have just told you everything. But I was under orders."

"To assassinate the head of the Legourian delegation?"

"Of course not! That was an accident."

"An accident?" Spock stared at him in the same manner he would have if he thought Luca was mentally imbalanced. "I suggest you start at the beginning."

"At the beginning... Very well. It all started with the Legourians. We know very little of them, which is strange for a potential Federation member. There was some concern that they were using this pretense to gather some intelligence data."

"That would not be the first time," Spock noted. "Who expressed this concern to you?"

"Admiral Chen," Luca said. "He contacted me when I disembarked from the _Kyoto_. I had several months of leave accumulated and had every intention of using at least a couple of weeks before reporting for my next assignment. The Admiral had other plans."

"He told you about the Legourians."

"Yes. Before then, I had no idea of who they were, except for the most superficial rumors. Chen said there had been strong suspicions within Starfleet Security about them spying on us. He said that the security of the Federation might be at stake, and yet SI would hear none of it. We needed to bring proof of their illegal activities. I was ordered to get this proof."

"Why you?" Spock asked calmly. "Certainly, Security must have some operatives who would have been able to perform the task?"

Luca shook his head.

"The data we aimed for was sealed within the Ambassador's personal computer. Do you realize how few people could break through those defenses? You and I are probably the only ones in the quadrant who'd be up to the task. And something tells me, you wouldn't have been available."

"Most unlikely," Spock agreed seriously, and Luca smiled.

"The threat was real, Spock," he said with conviction. "And in any case, when an admiral from Starfleet Security comes knocking on your door, you don't simply tell him you'd call back."

Spock's gaze became scathing, and Luca looked down at his feet.

"You are not easily intimidated, Luca," the Vulcan noted with ostensive casualness. "He must have found a way to either threaten you with something or offer you something highly desirable in exchange for your services." Spock made a thoughtful pause and then elaborated, "Was it your new command perhaps?"

Luca glanced up at him sharply.

"Damn you," he muttered, his momentary burst of anger repelled by Spock's impassive stare.

"I am correct then," Spock concluded calmly. He shook his head softly. "I will never understand this zeal for command. But it seems to be a powerful drive in humans."

"Maybe too powerful," Luca said. "I've been waiting for this a long time, Spock. To have it suddenly slip through my fingers was... unbearable. And it seemed an easy task anyway. To make some observation. To extract some computer files. Didn't seem like a big deal."

For some reason, Spock was forcibly reminded of Jim Kirk explaining to Doctor McCoy why he found it necessary to jump into a deserted dragon's nest to retrieve his communicator. It was probably the facial expression, Spock mused quietly. As if the human realized he shouldn't have done it, but didn't exactly feel guilty about it either.

"So I arrived to the Starbase," Luca continued. "Two weeks early. I watched the Legourians from afar, and the more I did, the less easy I felt about them. They asked too many questions and gave very few answers. By the end of the first week, I was convinced the suspicions had a solid basis. I began to formulate a plan. And then, I ran into you."

"Indeed," Spock intoned dryly.

"Look, you can be as sarcastic as you want, but I was genuinely happy to see you!" Luca told him, with considerable fervor.

"And you expressed this happiness by deceiving me?"

"I didn't plan on it," Luca said evenly. "I was slowly going mad here, Spock. There were people who followed me around the station, I thought I was getting paranoid. To see your face was like a fresh breeze in this insanity. I asked you to join me before I knew it. It was an impulse, nothing more. And you said yes to me, do you remember? You said yes."

"I remember," Spock said coolly. "My memory did not start to fail me until we reached your quarters. And then you..." he trailed off, as if too disgusted to go on.

"I'm sorry," Luca whispered. "I had no choice."

"You were not overly inebriated."

"No. I made a show of it for you. Remember back at the Academy, it was usually you, and me, and Tora who were the last ones standing. You never showed it, but I knew you weren't exactly happy with the rest of them. I thought if you saw me getting drunk, you'd end the evening early."

Spock looked at him for a long moment, then asked softly, "What happened then?"

Luca sighed.

"When you didn't go with Scotty, I realized I was in trouble. I couldn't let you know what I was up to, not then, and I couldn't just miraculously become sober. I knocked you out. I planned to be back before you came around."

"You took my tricorder," Spock said.

"Yes. I remember what you used to do with them at the Academy. I thought I might the use extra capabilities. I also took your shirt. On this station, nothing catches the eye better than someone out of uniform or wearing captain's stripes. Your tunic was less conspicuous. I left you in my quarters and went to the Ambassador's. I knew he was supposed to be out."

"He was there?"

"Oh, he was out, all right. But I didn't realize how much time it was going to take to break through those damned defenses. You wouldn't believe what I found in there, Spock. They were gathering intelligence data, no questioning that. But some of the documents I saw in there were only available to those in Starfleet with clearance level ten and even twelve. The Legourians couldn't possibly have laid their hands on those without help. There were a lot of files from Intelligence in there, but also from Security. I didn't know what to think. I felt I was being set up. I tried erasing the data, but couldn't, only having managed to copy some, when the Ambassador came back." Luca swallowed. "I didn't want to kill him, Spock. But he attacked me on sight. We fought, and I shoved him away at some point. He fell, and I guess not very softly. He yelled so loudly then, I thought he'd woken up the whole station. I didn't have any time to gather my wits. I couldn't disconnect the tricorder, so I snatched the memory chips and fled. I really didn't have a choice, Spock. With the kind of data I possessed, I couldn't allow them to catch me."

He looked at Spock warily, as if expecting the Vulcan to say something. But Spock merely continued to regard him impassively, seemingly in no great rush to speak. Luca shook his head.

"I was on such an adrenalin rush then. I didn't even know I killed him. I was certain he'd report me instantly and they'd search for me, so I went into hiding. I didn't find out you were arrested until several hours after that. I'm really very sorry I set you up, Spock. I shouldn't have convinced you to spend the evening with me. I'm sorry you're in trouble because of me." He looked at the Vulcan almost pleadingly. "Say something."

Spock raised an eyebrow slightly, then sat down finally, resting his back against the opposite wall.

"I do not believe you," he said simply.

"_What_?"

Spock cringed inwardly. Did all starship captains adopt this tone?

"I do not believe you," he repeated flatly. "I am certain you are telling the truth about your orders. But you lied to me when you explained why you brought me to your quarters." He fixed the human with a steady gaze. "I remember indeed our experience at the Academy. And I remember well that you are not a 'heavy drinker.' That was one of the reasons I respected you in the first place. Moreover, you knew me well enough to be certain that seeing you in such a difficulty, I would never leave you without assistance. Your playacting therefore was a calculated ruse to make me go with you. Your very invitation might have been an impulsive gesture, but I find this to be highly improbable. You did not ask me to join you because you were feeling nostalgic. You forget that I know you, Luca. You are a capable commander who does not let his emotions interfere with his duties. You asked me to come with you, knowing exactly what you were going to do. You asked me because you wanted me involved."

Luca was watching him with a slightly hypnotized expression on his face, his lips parted, breathing uneven.

"I could never fool you, could I, Spock?" he asked quietly. "Okay, maybe you're right. Maybe I did want you involved. Maybe I suspected it was going to be a mess and I wanted someone I could trust in there with me. I was totally alone in this chaos, seeing you was like a miracle coming out of the blue. But that doesn't change the fact that I was happy to see you, for no other reason that it was you, and if I didn't have those orders, I would have asked you to come with me all the same, and I would have—"

"Please," Spock raised a restraining hand. "Spare me the details. Why did you not simply ask for my help?"

"And say what?" Luca stared at him incredulously. "'Hey, Spock, nice to see you and by the way would you like to mug an ambassador with me this evening?' Somehow, I don't think so."

"Why did you not inform your superiors of what happened?"

"Spock, I don't know who my superiors are anymore," Luca said emphatically. "Haven't you been listening?" He reached into his pocket and showed Spock the missing memory chips. "The files I have here clearly say Starfleet Command is compromised. I have no idea who can be trusted."

"James Kirk," Spock said calmly.

Luca stared at him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said you didn't know whom you can trust," Spock explained patiently. "I trust my Captain."

"That's all very nice, Spock, but I don't know your Captain."

"You know me," Spock pointed out reasonably. "And I know enough of him to be absolutely sure that he would never take part in any kind of defection or treason. I trust him, and you can trust him, too. We have to find a way to get aboard the _Enterprise_."

Luca was watching him through narrowed eyes.

"That's a rather brave declaration," he said. "You've been serving under him for what—some two years? What did he do to earn such implicit trust from you?"

"That is currently of no significance," Spock replied. "The important thing is we must find a way to contact him as soon as possible. You are only seeing a fragment of the picture here, Luca."

"Really?" the human tilted his head in a challenge. "What am I missing?"

"Have you asked yourself why the Legourians would need to gather intelligence data on the Federation?"

Luca looked taken aback.

"Well... It gives them a strategic advantage."

"For what purpose?" Spock lifted an eyebrow. "They are one small world with no resources to support a military campaign. For generations, they have been traders and merchants. Why would they need strategically valuable data about a state they could never dream of conquering?"

"To sell it," Luca whispered, aghast. "To sell it to somebody else. To someone who _can_ launch an attack given the right data."

"And that is why we need to see Captain Kirk," Spock concluded smoothly. "You and I seem to be a rather inadequate response to this kind of threat."

Luca opened his mouth to answer, but a sudden shift of the deck beneath them silenced him. The two stowaways shared an alarmed glance, as they listened to a low hum spreading all around them and the distant sound of metallic plates sliding against each other.

The Legourian ship had just undocked from the station.


	5. Five

**Five**

"How are ye holding up, kid?" Scott asked, crouching down beside Kerr.

The Lieutenant lay flat on her back, her head well within the insides of the Science station, as she tried to reconfigure some circuits.

"Fine," she replied, a bit distractedly, before sliding out and sitting up.

"Ye look..." Scott tilted his head in assessment and finally concluded, "Green."

"You'd be, too, if you tried to make heads or tails of all these... modifications," she grunted, closing up the panel. "That's the farthest thing from a standard Science station configuration that I've ever seen."

Scott chuckled and helped her to her feet.

"Ye'll get used to it. At least, that's what the lads say."

She looked at him incredulously, then pointedly activated the scanner.

"How can you get used to seeing the readouts from twelve systems at once? Grow an extra set of eyes? Or better yet, another head?"

"Mr. Spock says it's a good memory/attention exercise," Scott shrugged. "I tried it, and it works, too, though frankly, I'm more comfortable with nine readouts."

"Nine?" she stared at him, then shook her head. "This is a crazy ship. You're all crazy. Is the whole Science department run this way?"

"Aye, more or less. But ye really get used to it. I heard meditation helps."

It took a long moment this time, but she finally caught him.

"You're laughing at me," she said, sounding both accusing and relieved.

"Aye," Scott grinned, and switched the scanner layout. "Two systems at a time all right with ye?"

"Perfect," she nodded happily.

"So," he said, looking over the somewhat quieter Bridge. "Coffee?"

Kerr looked hesitant.

"You're sure it's all right?" she finally asked.

"Mr. Sulu," Scott called over his shoulder. "Ye have the Bridge."

"Aye, sir."

Kerr smiled at him, and followed the Chief Engineer into the turbolift. They could have called for coffee, of course, but it felt good to leave the Bridge for several minutes. Like a gulp of fresh air.

Scott watched Kerr for a moment, sighing inwardly. The situation wasn't particularly pleasant for anyone, but at least most of them knew each other. Sulu and Chekov, for instance, might not have been chatting mindlessly as they usually would, but even a couple of duty-related words were reassurance enough for them. They knew each other, they knew everyone else on the Bridge, and it wasn't half as taxing on them as it was on Kerr. From Scott's observations, no one had said a word to her since she assumed her station. They weren't hostile on purpose, but she was an outsider, and they treated her as such, however inadvertently.

Kerr never showed it bothered her. She knew the reason, of course, and realized that it was a natural reaction. But as the morning hours evaporated slowly, the tension nesting on her shoulders had grown so much, it was a miracle she could still stand straight. It was sympathy rather than anything else that made Scott approach her in the end. If Uhura were there, he would have asked her, but then again, if Uhura were there, she would have probably been two steps ahead of him in maintaining everyone's morale. But the Communications Officer was tied up with her special assignment in her own department, and Scott found himself alone with the problem.

Not that it was so much of a bother, of course. He just didn't feel comfortable providing comfort, the pun notwithstanding. He had known Sinead's brother rather well, even though they hadn't been particularly close. Johnny's care for his sister had been touching, despite numerous jokes it invoked. He never once forgot to buy a souvenir for her in every port they visited, even though he couldn't send them home right away. It was a real tragedy when the boy was killed, but then, war always was.

Scott realized he had trouble treating Sinead like an adult. When he looked at her, the first thing he saw was the little girl from an old holo Johnny used to carry around. Scott had to constantly remind himself that not only she was a grown-up, but actually third in command of this ship right now. It was an effort, but he kept trying to set his priorities straight.

They had to submit for ID scans three times before they reached Officers' Mess, and each time Kerr stiffened. Scott shook his head inwardly at that. The level of tension on the ship was high, he could feel it. So high, in fact, that walking along the corridors was like walking through thick paper. And it looked like at least one third of that tension was coming exclusively from Kerr.

"How long do you think the Captain is going to be?" she asked, as they picked up their cups from the replicator.

Scott frowned. "That depends on what the Commodore has in store for him."

"What if the Commodore decides Captain Kirk is helping Mr. Spock? What if he orders the ship to be searched?"

"He'd be in for a surprise, wouldn't he?" Scott grunted. "I have strict orders not to let anyone on board. I intend to follow them to the letter. But I don't think it'll come to that."

"Why not?"

"Captain Kirk is too good a poker player," he grinned. "I'm pretty sure if the Commodore's gonna call our bluff, he's not gonna like it."

"The thing is," Kerr said hesitantly, taking a cautious sip of her coffee, "I'm not sure it's a bluff."

"What do ye mean?"

"Well, while Mr. Spock might not be aboard this ship, I think I do know where he is."

Scott raised his eyebrows.

"I thought ye weren't allowed to use our sensors."

"And I didn't," she assured him. "But just think about it, Scotty. Lieutenant Uhura told us he escaped more than ten hours ago, and they still can't find him. We might not use our sensors in order not to attract attention, but the Starbase people don't have to worry about that, right? So why didn't they find him already?"

"Perhaps someone sabotaged their sensors?"

"Uh-huh. Or perhaps he's somewhere their sensors can't penetrate," she said, somewhat smugly. "Like, say, the Legourian vessel?"

"The Legourian vessel?" Scott stared at her as if she was raving. "What would he go there for? They'd snap him in two in a minute."

"Well, I don't know the hows," Kerr admitted. "But if everyone else reacts the way you did, no one's going to look for him there. A rather logical idea, don't you think?"

"Aye," Scott said, alarmed. "And it's giving me a headache. Did ye tell the Captain that?"

"Just before he left. You think I shouldn't have?"

"Nah, I think ye did the right thing. I just hope the Commodore hasn't learned to read minds."

"Well," she shrugged, disposing of her empty cup. "So do I."

* * *

"Commodore, we've been through this five times already," Kirk said, making no effort to conceal his exasperation. "I don't know where Commander Spock is. I didn't help him escape. I have no idea who did. If you have evidence to prove otherwise, then by all means, arrest me!"

"You know damn well that I don't have any such evidence."

"Then shouldn't we talk about something else instead? Like why you ordered him to be brought to you dead or alive? What the hell is that supposed to mean anyway?"

"You don't see what's going on here, do you?" Wesley hissed, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "We're talking about an act of espionage, followed by murder! We tried to go by the book, we tried to be gentle. What did it get us? Two security guards drugged into oblivion, and a forced exit. Your First Officer has made it clear which side of the law he prefers to be on, Captain. And I think it's time we treated him the way he deserves."

"I can't believe you seriously believe in that."

"And I can't believe _you_ believe he's innocent!" Wesley exploded. "Honestly, Jim, since when are you this naïve? The man's been asking for it for years now, yet you turned a blind eye to every dubious thing he did. What's happening now is the direct result of your actions. Or, rather inactions."

"He did not kill that Legourian, Bob," Kirk said slowly and quietly. "Say what you will, but you know as well as I do that he didn't do it."

"Jim, innocent people don't stage prison breaks!" Wesley's temper flared again. "If he was innocent, what would he be afraid of? That we'd abuse him? Torture him? Execute him perhaps? You know there's only one capital offense left on the books—and come to think of it, your First Officer had already committed it! Beats me how you could still trust this guy to be your right hand after that. How many more times will you let him take you for a fool, Jim?"

"You don't know him."

"Do you? Do you really know him, Jim? Like the back of your hand? Can you say he's been completely open with you? That he has no secrets from you?"

Kirk closed his eyes.

_...__'Why didn't you tell me?' — 'Ask you to face the death penalty, too?'..._

_...__'Captain, there are some things that transcend even the discipline of the service.'..._

_...__'She is T'Pring. My wife.'..._

_...'Captain, Ambassador Sarek and his wife_ are _my parents.'..._

"No," Kirk said, looking up at Wesley again. "No, I guess, I can't tell you that. But I know him, Bob. I might not know everything about him, but I know _him_. Spock's not a killer."

"I never said he was a killer, Jim. Didn't it occur to you that it may have been an accident?"

"He would never have run if it were. He would have been the first to step forward and admit it."

"Jim, you're not making any sense. The next thing you'd be telling me is that Vulcans don't lie."

"As a rule, they don't."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but there's an exception to every rule, and your First Officer seems to be that exception. I'm not saying he had a malevolent intent to kill the Ambassador. It's pretty clear that it was information he was after."

Kirk forced himself not to roll his eyes.

"What information could the Legourian Ambassador have that Spock would need? That anyone would need for that matter? You're saying it's espionage, but that doesn't make sense. What could they possibly have that we'd be interested in? And even if they did have something of value, wouldn't it be easier to just wait till they apply for Federation membership? Under the accords of the treaty, they would be obligated to disclose any information the Federation Council might request."

"Jim, isn't this kind of debate rather pointless? The fact remains that there's been information stolen, and Spock is responsible. And even if he hadn't left quite so much evidence, we'd suspect him anyway."

"Why?"

"Isn't that obvious? He's a Vulcan. Vulcans were the ones showing the strongest opposition to the admittance of the Legourians. They said we didn't know enough about them, but the truth is, they were afraid the new ally would take their place as the Federation's main trade advisors."

"And you think Spock was 'hired' by the Vulcans to prevent the admission of the Legourians to protect Vulcan interests?" Kirk asked, unpleasantly surprised at how reasonable the idea sounded.

"Well, it certainly seems that way," Wesley said scornfully. "An effective method, too, like all things Vulcan."

"What do you mean?"

"The Legourians left the station. They said they didn't want to have anything to do with us anymore."

"What?" Kirk nearly jumped out of his chair. "When did they leave?"

"About eight hours ago," Wesley said, eyeing him warily. "What's the matter, Jim?"

"I have to go," Kirk told him evenly. "Unless of course I'm under arrest?"

Wesley shook his head, but didn't dismiss him, coming instead to his feet and walking over to stand in front of Kirk.

"Jim, what's going on?" Wesley asked quietly. "I've noticed all your people are on board your ship, and there're Security guards at the airlock. What are you up to?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Kirk replied, adopting the same tone. "What are you trying to hide, Bob? I know you don't like Spock, but to actually order him to be shot? It looks awfully like you're trying to cover up something. A dead man can't talk."

They stared at each other silently for several long seconds, and then Wesley's expression changed slightly.

"What if I told you," he spoke quietly, "that I wasn't the one who gave this order? That I was only relaying it, having no idea why it had to be so harsh? That if someone _is_ trying to cover up something, it's not me?"

"But someone higher than you?" Kirk nodded. "I thought as much. But surely, you can see that I can't trust you now. I don't know where your loyalties lie, Bob. I can't be sure that you won't report every word I said to that... someone. In short, I don't know which side you're on. I don't even know which side I'm on."

Slowly, Wesley's lips stretched in a wry smirk.

"Well, then. That makes two of us."

Kirk stared at him. Then he grinned.

"If we both make through this in one piece..."

"Yeah. Is there any way I can help you?"

Kirk frowned in thought slightly.

"Maybe. We'll be leaving as soon as I get back on board. With the radio silence and all, if you happen not to notice our departure for as long as possible..."

Wesley nodded curtly. "You'll have several hours at best, but it's more than enough to get the hell out of here."

"Thanks, Bob. I owe you one."

"I may have to collect it sooner than you think," Wesley predicted grimly and extended his hand. "Good hunting, Jim."

"Watch your back, Commodore." Kirk shook his hand, turned on his heel and left. He hadn't expected the meeting to end quite this way, but he couldn't stop thinking that it was a good sign. For all their differences, he had known Bob Wesley too long and too well to enjoy being at odds with him. Wesley was power no sane person should ever underestimate, and Kirk wasn't about to make this kind of mistake. He grinned at the renewed wave of adrenalin washing over him.

Perhaps this game was far from being clear. But it was far from being lost, either.

* * *

McCoy wasn't taken by surprise by their sudden departure, but several hours into pursuit, he was getting steadily more concerned. Upon the initial meeting where Kirk had briefed them on his conversation with Wesley and Scotty had sworn a lot under his breath at the news of them being up to a speedy chase, the ship sank into a deep pool of uneasy quiet. With half of the regular personnel confined to their quarters, and the other half being immersed in their duties without any time for anything non-essential, the decks felt strangely like those of a ghost vessel. The impression was strengthened by the emergency lights and occasional patrols.

Most of the senior staff had had only a couple of hours of sleep the previous night. Neither Kirk nor Scotty had gotten any sleep at all, but while McCoy was relatively sure about the Engineer's state of mind, the Captain worried him.

James Kirk in stress-mode was snappish, abrupt, impatient, and decisively not forthcoming regarding his plans. In other words, he didn't resemble the James Kirk of the last twenty-four hours in the slightest. The Captain appeared unusually collected and strangely quiet. It was as if he had suddenly gained at least thirty additional years of experience, which would explain his uncharacteristic calmness and well-measured command style. Usually on the eve of a major event, like landfall, or battle, the sense of sheer excitement emanating from Kirk was almost palpable, coursing through the entire ship. Right now, it was noticeably absent.

Kirk didn't exactly look distracted, more like a man who had something on his mind. It wasn't at all surprising, considering their situation. They weren't quite the renegade ship yet, but they weren't exactly acting on anybody's orders, either. Besides, with all the radio silence, they wouldn't know if they had been declared deserters already. McCoy, however, had the most persistent suspicion that Kirk's behavior had nothing to do with that.

As he strode along the corridors, looking for the Captain—the ship-wide calls were at the moment restricted to emergency situations only, McCoy reflected on the unpredictability of fate. It had to be the _Enterprise_ in the middle of this mess. It had to be Jim Kirk to sort it out. Was he destined to get all the tough calls? He could handle them, no doubt. But wasn't there supposed to be some kind of compensation for all the trouble? McCoy's thoughts turned gloomy. Like a moment of personal happiness? Every once in a century at least?

From the moment McCoy had met Jim and to this day, the word that described Jim's personal life best was 'loss.' It was either a factual loss, which had happened several times too many, or the threat of a loss that was yet to come. Klingons had nicknamed Kirk 'Fearless'. When it reached McCoy's ears, he asked sarcastically if it shouldn't have been 'Reckless.' The truth was, Jim Kirk and fear were indeed close friends. But the people who knew this could have been counted with the fingers on one hand.

The Observation Deck was quiet and dim when the Doctor walked onto it, but he spotted the familiar silhouette instantly. Kirk was standing in front of the biggest window, his hands clasped behind his back. He was gazing at the stars absently. Suppressing a sigh, McCoy walked over to him. It occurred to him suddenly that the reason for Kirk's strange behavior should have been clear to him all along. It didn't take a genius to figure it out. With an internal shake of his head, McCoy realized that the lack of sleep must have been affecting him more than he thought.

The question was what he could do about it.

"It's not the best time to hide from your crew," he noted, as he came to a stop at Kirk's side.

The Captain acknowledged his presence with the slightest nod.

"I'm not hiding. I just needed a couple of minutes for myself."

For a moment, McCoy regarded him silently. Then he turned towards the stars, too, imitating the Captain's posture.

"Do you remember when you and I first met, Jim?"

Kirk smiled softly. "I think my ears are still ringing from all the shouting. You were quite... formidable."

"Yeah, well, you were quite a gift horse yourself," McCoy grunted.

"For a couple of moments I wasn't sure if you were going to treat me or break my neck."

"Would have been deserved, too. But you know later, when you pulled that damned stunt and put yourself between us and the Klingon armada, there was a moment when I..."

He trailed off and Kirk glanced at him quizzically.

"When you—?"

"When I was more worried about you than about all those kids we tried to rescue."

"Bones," Kirk drawled reproachfully, but his eyes were alight with sudden warmth. "You had only just met me. Must have been my charm."

McCoy snorted. "Fat chance." He shook his head. "Whatever it was though, the point is, I cared. I still do, every time you go out there."

Kirk looked at him closely. "What are you trying to say?"

McCoy turned to meet his gaze.

"It's all right to worry about him," he said evenly. "You don't have to hide it. There isn't a single person on your crew who wouldn't understand."

Kirk's face closed as he stared at the stars again. McCoy watched him a moment longer, then followed his example.

"I'm not sure I understand myself," Kirk said quietly after a while. "Spock's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"That doesn't automatically mean you don't get to worry about him. You're his friend."

"I'm his captain."

"So? Just because you're his captain, you're not supposed to have any goddamned feelings? You know that's bull."

"I don't know, Bones. I've been asking myself if it's a good thing. I never wanted this friendship in the first place."

McCoy stared at him.

"Come again?"

Kirk shrugged.

"The no fraternization policy—"

"—is redundant. You and I are friends, it never bothered you."

"You and I have been friends for many years, long before I took command. Spock, on the other hand..." Kirk frowned, shaking his head. "I never wanted to become his friend. Never planned on it, never worked to make it happen. I wanted to know him better, yes. First, because I thought he was opposing me. Then, because he was my Exec, and it made sense that I get to know him. And somewhere in-between, it sort of just... slipped through somehow."

"Jim, I don't think Spock planned on it, either. What are you getting at?"

"I don't know. It's just... I can't quite wrap my mind around this. I was perfectly fine before I met him. Now, I'm..."

"Vulnerable?"

Kirk glanced at him sharply, but his gaze was rapidly losing its edge.

"How did this happen anyway?"

He looked so helplessly lost that McCoy had to chuckle.

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you of all people," he said, shaking his head. "Spock—now that would have made sense, he doesn't have a clue about emotions, does he? But you, Jim, you surprise me."

"Why?"

"Because as damaging as it might be to your male ego, you're primarily an emotional person. Oh, you restrain your feelings ruthlessly. No wonder you and Spock get along so well—you're both damned control freaks. You're not doing a half-bad job of suppressing your emotions most of the time, too. But at the moments of crisis, your control slips, and your emotions take over. Hence your intuitive leaps and miraculous solutions, and all that thinking-out-of-the-box stuff that makes you Starfleet's best boy wonder."

"Assuming you're right, and I'm not saying you are, what does it have to do with my friendship with Spock?"

"It has everything to do with it, Jim, because it's all about you. You'd like to have some reasonable explanation, wouldn't you? That it makes you a better command team and that it's, God forgive me, logical. Given your perverse morality, you'd probably prefer for it to be the result of some sneaky scheme of yours to seize absolute power aboard this ship."

"That was mean, Bones."

"That's the truth. You'd be happy with an explanation like that. It would have probably made you feel ten times smarter all at once. But the truth of why Spock is your friend is so simple and non-original, you'd be bored to tears. It's because you like him, Jim. From my observations, a great deal. And if it sounds like a four-year-old to you, well, that's the idea."

Kirk didn't answer, and for a while, there was nothing but contemplative silence around them. Finally, the Captain turned to his friend with a mild smile.

"Bones, aren't you the tiniest bit concerned that we're talking about this while Starfleet is on the brink of a major crisis?"

McCoy chuckled and shook his head.

"Nope, because I know that deep inside that stubborn head of yours the wheels are turning even as we speak, searching for a solution, and I'm damn sure you'll find one. To be honest, I find it endearing that you can be so brilliant when commanding a starship and so dumb when it comes to personal stuff. Kind of tears that glowing image of yours a little, you know? Reminds people you're just a man."

"Well, I'm glad someone's enjoying this," Kirk said dryly. He paused, biting his lip, thinking. "I have a bad feeling about him being on that ship."

McCoy shrugged.

"Well, it's not gonna be a picnic if they find him there, that's for sure. But Spock's tougher than you give him credit for, Jim. He can take some pounding, if that's what concerns you. Unless of course, they'd want to kill him straight away," he added as an afterthought.

"Why, thank you, Doctor," Kirk drawled sarcastically. "That really takes the load off my mind."

"Anytime."

"That's not what worries me most, though. I'd hate to discover that in this Big Game he's playing for the other side. Because there's too much at stake here to risk losing." Kirk looked at the Doctor squarely. "We're not in a sandbox, Bones. If he's playing against me, I can't let him win. Even if it means destroying him."

There was nothing McCoy could offer to counter that.

* * *

As a scientist, Spock had always been understandably eager for new discoveries. That, however, didn't change the fact that there were those he could have lived without. The exploration of the specifics of the Legourian style of space travel fell into that category without a doubt.

The moment the ship jumped into warp, both Spock and Luca had found themselves smashed into the deck, barely able to breathe, let alone to move. Spock only managed to say that the warp-speed compensators seemed to be operating under a different set of parameters and Luca nodded, but that was the limit of their conversation. It made sense though, Spock mused, as the air was being steadily pressured to leave his lungs. The Legourians were lightweights, and nobody knew what their internal pressure was like, but it was obvious that the increased G wasn't affecting them quite as much as humanoids.

For once, Spock was at a distinct disadvantage before humans due to his Vulcan physique. While he was almost twice as slender as Luca, his higher body mass index mixed with low blood pressure was threatening to become the cause of his death. As the pressure evened somewhat, Spock saw Luca sit up, obviously getting accustomed to their new conditions. His skin looked flushed and reddened with all the tiny blood vessels that had exploded, but he appeared to be moving normally, even though somewhat slower. He turned to check on the Vulcan and said something, possibly asked if Spock was all right.

Spock didn't hear him. He lost consciousness.

He came around, feeling the tight grip of pressure holding him. Strangely, it didn't feel half as bad as before. Apparently, his body required more time to adjust, but now was once again obeying him. His head was elevated, obviously in an attempt to decrease the pressure. A correct medical procedure, Spock recalled, even if somewhat futile. Spock opened his eyes to find that his head was resting on Luca's lap.

"Oh, thank God," Luca's voice sounded above him. Spock felt his face being turned gently to meet the human's disturbed gaze. Luca smiled at him in relief, his lips swollen, eyes blood-red. "For a moment there, I thought I lost you. How are you feeling?"

Spock considered the question.

"Adequate," he said. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"I don't know," Luca shrugged, helping him to sit up. "Half an hour? Hey, take it easy, would you?"

"Thank you," Spock nodded, straightening his back.

"Don't mention it. Damn, how these guys travel with uncontrolled G rise like that, I have no idea."

"They might be using special chairs," Spock said. "Or, perhaps they are better suited to withstand abrupt G increases by nature."

"Here, let me," Luca said, noticing Spock's awkward attempts to get the blood running in his arms. "It's getting colder. Well, given that they are sky dwellers, it would explain why it's so chilly in here."

"They must find Earth-standard conditions equally uncomfortable," Spock noted, his tone softened by his gratitude for the human's assistance. But agreeable as the sensation had been, he realized soon enough that his natural ability to shield had been hindered by his condition. He pulled away slowly. "Thank you, that is sufficient." He looked at his companion closely, noticing for the first time his labored breathing. "Are you having difficulty breathing?"

"Yeah, a bit," Luca said, but the way he leaned against the wall gave away the level of strain he was under. "Their air must be way thinner than ours."

"That would seem to be a logical conclusion," Spock agreed.

"Well, maybe the Legourians would provide us with better accommodations, once they discover we're here," Luca said, with a grimace.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"I doubt they will," he said. "This is a cargo hold and it is currently empty. I do not believe their internal sensors are more sophisticated than those of Starfleet."

"Why would they need such heavy shielding anyway?" Luca asked in exasperation. "Makes life damn inconvenient."

"I would think that should be obvious," Spock said, getting to his feet tentatively. "They are traders. And traders sometimes prefer their cargo not to be scanned."

Luca grinned.

"What about Vulcans? Are there Vulcan smugglers at all?"

Spock looked at him with an air of hurt poise.

"Vulcans would not take part in such an undignified enterprise."

"Of course not. So the question is, what do we do now?"

Spock frowned slightly.

"I see only one reason for such a hasty departure," he said. "Obviously, the murder investigation is far from being closed. Therefore—"

"They must be in a hurry to meet their buyer."

"Indeed. I suggest we search for a means to leave this vessel. Then we can—"

"Wait, Spock," Luca interrupted him. "Don't you think we should try and stop them from making the delivery?" Panting slightly, he rose to his feet as well. "Or, at the very least, take a look at this buyer?"

"What good will that information do, if we cannot deliver it on time?" Spock asked. "Or should I say, if we cannot deliver it at all?"

Luca frowned.

"We seem to have a case of the chicken and the egg problem," he muttered. Then, catching Spock's glance, raised a hand. "Don't ask."

The corners of Spock's lips twitched slightly.

"I am familiar with the... premise," he said. "I must say, I have always found it... illuminating that a problem such as this should be the cornerstone of human philosophy."

"Smartass."

"I suggest we split up," Spock said, ignoring him. "Since you are now obviously more familiar with the Legourian computer technology, you might try to ascertain our heading and perhaps the ship's layout. I, on the other hand, could concentrate on locating the escape pods."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Luca nodded. "Let's try not to get lost, shall we?"

"That would be illogical."

"Ah. Forgot about that one."

They split up at the first intersection of the corridor. At first, Spock had found his way deserted, which should have been a relief. Unfortunately, his search appeared to be equally fruitless. Once or twice, he dodged the Legourians, walking in his direction. Spock tried to catch their conversations in hopes that it would give him a general idea about their heading, but that endeavor turned out to be a failure. The Legourians were using some kind of dialect the UT didn't recognize, and Spock doubted that even Uhura would have been able to pick up the language that fast.

Since he determinedly ignored computer consoles, having no wish to raise the alarm, he only had his 'space-instinct' to guide him. He surmised that the escape pods must be located closer to the living quarters, assuming the ship had any, than to the cargo hold. He was on his way to test his theory, when another unexpected occurrence happened.

The ship dropped out of warp.

Spock was thinking about it, even as the overwhelming wave of dizziness and crushing pain made him slump heavily to the deck. The sensation was not unlike that of a diver who comes to the surface abruptly, without gradually undergoing decompression. He felt vaguely his own blood trickling from his nose and ears and streaming down his neck, but it was a faint sensation. His head threatened to explode, and he wondered, barely coherent, if Luca was in any better shape, wherever he was when the shock hit him.

Spock wasn't the tiniest bit surprised seeing a Legourian face looming over him. He just took it as a signal to close his eyes and slip into the welcoming pool of nothingness.


	6. Six

**A/N**: Please note that the rating on the story changed from K+ to **T**, mostly due to this chapter. Let the readers beware. The story now rates as strong **R**.

**Six**

A gentle hand on his shoulder had brought him out of the worst nightmare ever. Instantly, he tried to recall what it was about, but it was fading far too quickly for his still dazed mind to grasp. Something about strangers surrounding him... and it was hot there, wherever 'there' was, for his shirt was soaking with sweat.

"Captain?"

Kirk looked up, wondering fleetingly why his whole body was so stiff. Uhura's face slid into focus. She seemed concerned.

"Captain, are you all right?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he said, groggily. He ran his hand over his forehead. "I seem to... I seem to be running a fever."

For some reason, that pronouncement made her smile.

"I'm sure it's not serious, Captain. A shower and a change of location should probably do it."

He looked at her with a highly intelligent but mercifully mute 'Huh?' in his eyes. Her tone registered first, and he frowned in concentration. Why was Uhura teasing him? Then the words finally sank in. His eyes snapped wide open in shock, as he took in his surroundings. He couldn't stop the second most intelligent question of the night from slipping off his tongue.

"What am I doing here?"

Uhura inclined her head tactfully, letting him discover the answer to that question for himself.

Kirk thought about it, but at first, it seemed to be an exercise in futility. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep and his usual routine of touring the ship wasn't working, because submitting every fifty meters to a Security scan ruined his pace. Sleeping pills were out of the question, as he needed his head to remain clear. He finally decided that since he couldn't sleep anyway, he might as well go over the last report on the strategic situation in this sector. Just to take his mind off things.

Spock was the one who had briefed him on the situation, not a week ago. Somehow, apparently, Kirk's drastically sleep-deprived mind came up with the idea that accessing this report from Spock's quarters made perfect sense. He vaguely remembered thinking that it would be only logical. Which explained, however remotely, why he had come here, but which didn't explain at all why he had fallen asleep at Spock's desk. He was overheated and his body was _hurting_ from the awkward angle it had been forced to assume.

Whoever said James T. Kirk always came up with the best ideas?

"Lieutenant," he said hesitantly and stopped. How could he possibly explain that away? He didn't even understand it himself.

She looked at him calmly, and not without a good measure of sympathy.

"Don't worry about me, sir. When I was an ensign aboard the _Potemkin_, I once walked in on my commanding officer impersonating Winnie-the-Pooh in front of his own reflection in the mirror. From that moment on, I made it a point not to question my superior officers' behavior unless it was threatening the ship."

"I see," Kirk said slowly. "A wise decision, Lieutenant."

"It has proven to be that on occasion, sir."

"I would consider it a personal favor if you don't mention this to Doctor McCoy," Kirk said, somewhat stiffly. Another psychoanalytical session from the good Doctor was simply more than he could stand right this moment.

"You can count on me, sir," Uhura gave him a conspiratorial smile.

"Did you check on Scotty, too?" Kirk asked, slightly relieved.

She shook her head. "I sent Chekov."

"Really," Kirk stared at her. "You sent Chekov down to Engineering while Scotty's there trying to talk the engines out of quitting on us? Lieutenant... I kind of liked Mr. Chekov. Surely, he deserved an easier death."

"He seemed sleepy, Captain," she replied nonchalantly. "I thought it would help him become alert again."

Kirk looked at her with mild apprehension.

"He's going to get his adrenaline dose all right. Whenever did you become so devious, Lieutenant?"

She grinned. "I was born this way."

"Your parents must be saints."

"I wouldn't go that far, sir. After all, they were the ones who gave me lessons."

Kirk shook his head, trying to regain his bearings.

"Why are you here?" he asked. Then, realizing that didn't come out too well, elaborated, "You needed me for something?"

She raised her eyebrows in restrained amusement.

"Actually, Captain, you paged me."

"I paged you?" Kirk blinked. "Oh, right. I did page you. I wanted to ask you..." But he trailed off helplessly again. There was something important he was sure he wanted to ask her. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what it was.

Uhura took pity on him.

"Captain, you need coffee," she said, shaking her head. "A lot of it."

"I need to get out of here before I melt," Kirk grunted, coming to his feet. His coordination wasn't at its peak, either.

"You wanted to ask me about the _Adventure_," Uhura reminded him, watching him warily. "Whether or not I managed to get the signal through."

"That's right!" He beamed, grabbing her shoulders in delight of the returned memory. As the action registered, he quickly let go. Judging by the look on Uhura's face, the whole exchange amused her no end. _If McCoy were here_, Kirk thought rather gloomily, _he'd never let me live this down_. "So did you inform them of Lieutenant Kerr's status?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded. "Brushed some dust off of my Morse code, but I'm certain they got the message."

"Good," Kirk said. "The last thing we need is another starship panicking over its missing commanding officer."

"Given our past experiences, we could give them tips."

Kirk found he was now coherent enough to glare at her. Uhura smiled back sweetly.

"I need to get back to my post, Captain."

"I'll be up shortly," Kirk nodded. "I need to shower and change."

He looked at her a little closer and noticed that she, too, was tired, though showing almost none of it. _How do women do that? _Kirk marveled silently. _It's like they have an additional duty to look good even when they're dead on their feet. _

"Did you get any sleep, Lieutenant?" he asked suspiciously.

"Yes, sir," she smiled. "I'm fine, Captain. Just worried about... everything."

"I know the feeling," he grunted. "Uhura, I appreciate your discretion."

She nodded, giving the impression that it was something he didn't even need to ask for. In a way it was, he reflected bemusedly as she left. Uhura loved nothing better than to tease an unsuspecting crewmember to bits, but she seemed to always know the line between something that could be used to lighten everyone's mood and something deeply personal, something that should never be voiced. She seemed to be the queen of the ship's gossip, but she never, ever crossed that line and didn't let the others do it. Kirk was pretty certain there were quite a few secrets she was keeping for Spock, most likely without his knowledge. The Captain knew he was safe in her hands.

He grinned tiredly, but with a sense of strange elation. It felt good to have been subjected to a flood of nonjudgmental sympathy for a few moments. Normally, it would make him feel weak; he was never comfortable receiving this particular emotion. With Uhura, it was all right somehow. She seemed to have an almost uncanny way to smooth his rough edges. She had such a sweet way of saying, 'I care and you're being an idiot,' that whoever she was currently addressing couldn't help but agree with her.

Kirk shook his head affectionately. Sure, Bones was a great friend and a very compassionate person, but he always seemed to have a ton of questions at the ready, most of them intrusive and uncomfortable. Uhura didn't ask any questions. She wasn't a close friend, but something told Kirk that she wouldn't be asking them even if she were. She was just there, with her almost empathic ability to sense the other person's needs.

Perhaps that wasn't so strange after all, Kirk mused, finally prompting himself to action and walking out of Spock's quarters. She was the Communications Officer, wasn't she? And communication between two human beings was probably the most important communication of all. Human beings, or half-human beings.

Kirk gritted his teeth. He had to stop his mind from going there again and again. Spock chose his own path, didn't he? Kirk was pretty sure he knew who helped him escape. Something told him that this time, the Vulcan didn't have to be drugged to submit. He did it anyway. And Bones... Bones had gotten it wrong.

It wasn't worry about his friend that had been keeping Kirk on edge. It was something way more primary, more basic. Spock made a personal choice, and that choice left Kirk on the losing side of the equation. _He left me_. He wasn't prepared for the sheer impact of this realization.

The logical part of his mind tried to put up some resistance. It was absurd that Spock would conspire with the Vulcans, or anyone for that matter. He didn't ask to be arrested. He probably couldn't control the situation from that point on.

_But he could have told me_, Kirk's emotional side argued from beneath the crushing oppression of offense and hurt. _He could have asked for my help. He could have trusted me. He could have cared._

Damn. Where did that come from?

Kirk rushed through his quarters towards the bathroom, all but tearing his clothes in his frustrated haste to get rid of them.

_So much for 'I'm the __captain.'_ _This is personal after all. Bones had gotten it right the first time around._

He nearly smashed the water activation button into the wall.

_This won't do. Get a grip on yourself. You have a Big Game on your hands and you waste your time thinking about someone who doesn'__t even merit it. Who never wanted it in the first place. Who..._

Oh, damn.

He _was_ acting like a four-year-old, wasn't he? Enough's enough. He was the captain, he couldn't afford this kind of luxury. He was in the zone. He had to act accordingly.

When Kirk exited his quarters ten minutes later, he was once again collected and calm, the image of the model commander. He seemed a little tense, but then, weren't they all? The chase was taxing on his crew, the ship felt wrong with all the security measures. The Captain fully intended to end this hunt soon, while they could still function.

After all, that was only logical.

* * *

The first sensation that entered his mind was the heat. It was hot in there, too hot even for a Vulcan. Had he been relocated from the Legourian vessel while he was unconscious? Spock blinked, trying to clear his vision, but it wasn't very helpful. All he saw was a bright white light directly in front of him. He tried to move away and discovered he was restrained. At least, that answered some questions. He was obviously still a prisoner.

"You are finally awake, Commander."

The voice came from outside his field of vision. Unlike the clipped, harsh sound of the Legourian voices, this one was gentle, to a point even singsong.

"How do you feel?"

"Who are you?" Spock asked, surprised that he could still talk. His throat felt burnt and painfully dry.

"Well now, isn't it considered rude to answer a question with a question?" the voice replied almost playfully.

Spock didn't answer. His brief analysis of the situation concluded with the determination that he was still aboard the Legourian vessel, mercifully not at warp.

"You know, Mr. Spock, I believe it will be in your best interests to take part in this conversation."

"How do you know my name?"

The chuckle that followed sounded almost pleased, as if Spock had granted some dear wish of its producer.

"You were quite adamant about introducing yourself not too long ago. Of course, you seemed quite delirious. I got somewhat... fatigued of hearing your name, rank and serial number. A rather redundant tradition, wouldn't you say? On the other hand, it did provide me with a means of addressing you, so who am I to complain?"

Spock didn't answer. He tried to swallow, but it only made his throat hurt more. He felt a sudden presence at his side, and then something touched his lips. A straw. Spock kept his mouth stubbornly shut.

"What could be gained by refusing?" The voice sounded much closer, but hard as he tried, Spock couldn't see its owner. "It's only water. I assure you it isn't poisoned. And I won't ask for anything in exchange. After all, how are we supposed to have a civilized conversation if you can't talk?"

After a short consideration, Spock decided to concede the point. After all, he needed information, too.

"Good," his benefactor approved, sounding pleased. "I'm glad you're being so reasonable."

The water was gone all too soon, but Spock wasn't about to complain.

"Well, now that you're feeling better, it's time for our little talk."

Spock remained silent. He knew too little at this point to play his own hand yet.

"You know, Commander, my people are new to this part of the... What do you call it? The Alpha Quadrant? But I have already heard so many captivating concepts about your people. For example, they say that Vulcans don't lie. Intriguing, isn't it? But then, they also say that Vulcans aren't subject to emotions. I must admit, I'm totally taken with your species. Such admirable integrity. But you know what fascinates me most?"

Spock wisely refrained from answering.

"They say that there is no means of persuasion that could be applied to Vulcans to make them talk."

There was a beat of contemplative silence, and then the voice resumed, colored with controlled excitement and tangible anticipation.

"You see, Commander, my species pride themselves on our interrogation techniques. It is considered a fine art among my people. Few are deemed to possess the true talent. Masters are even fewer and highly valued. It may not be very humble of me to say this, but some have called me a master."

The voice was everywhere, the inflections and intonations performed indeed with a refined mastery, sincerity ringing in every syllable. For a wild moment, Spock envisioned himself and his elusive opponent at a 3D chessboard, with Spock's silence and the man's words for chess pieces. He had a sinking feeling that he had never been quite so outmatched before.

"I confess, Commander, I could not resist the temptation you present. I would not live up to my reputation if I didn't try to find out how many of those most compelling concepts concerning your people are... true. You should be honored to be my partner in this audacious endeavor. After all, how can one know life when one doesn't know oneself?"

Spock briefly considered his options. There was obviously no possibility of escape, his body was held too tightly. But despite the confidence his interrogator exhibited, Spock could not think of anything that could be used to make him talk. And he still desperately required information. Who was this man? His very presence on the Legourian ship, as well as his admitting to being new in this region of space led to the only logical conclusion. He and his people were the ones who hired the Legoruians. Spock needed to know who they were.

"If I am to answer your questions, you must ask them," he said. Questions, he knew, could be just as telling as answers. In a way, even more.

"Tut, tut, where's the rush?" He was being admonished gently. "You strike me as an intelligent man, Mr. Spock. Try not to disappoint me."

"I am a man of logic."

"Of course. But logic should not serve as an excuse for rudeness."

"So I was informed."

"You see? We understand each other. We shall proceed slowly, Commander. I will only ask one question of you to be certain of our cooperation. But before that, I want to show you something. There is a device above your head, which you cannot see, my apologies. It is a most peculiar piece of... antique, shall we say? It was lent to me by an Andorian trader of most likely questionable reputation..."

The voice went on, but Spock didn't need to hear the rest. He knew what kind of device his tormentor was describing. During the last Vulcan-Andorian war that ended over a hundred years ago, such devices were widely used to interrogate Vulcan captives. They were strictly forbidden by the Federation. Not causing any actual physical pain, when activated, it lowered the emotional threshold, leaving the prisoner at the mercy of his or her own emotions. Most Vulcans preferred death to the loss of control.

Spock closed his eyes briefly. He admitted to experiencing fear. Three times in his life, he had lost control of his emotions. The first one nearly resulted in the destruction of the _Enterprise_ with all hands. The second time, he joined his shipmates in their benevolent mutiny. The third... the third time, he had killed his captain. Was there going to be a fourth? Should he submit, hoping that his control would prevail? Or should he use this control while he still had it to end both the interrogation and his own existence?

"Now, now. None of these thoughts, Commander. Let's start with setting one. Who knows, you might enjoy letting go."

It started immediately, like a steady pull of pressure inside his mind. The barriers guarding his emotions, the barriers that he had been building for years, were suddenly exposed. Tested. Spock fought back, strengthening his defenses from within, knowing he had to conserve his power. The pressure increased, and he tensed in his restraints, fighting back desperately. But the pressure was too crude, too determined. It increased yet again and started eating at the barriers like potent acid, sneaking within the thick walls, shattering them from the inside.

_No._

He didn't know if he said it. He lost all contact with reality. It felt so unbearably unfair. Years, he had spent years of hard labor, of effort beyond imaginable, of unprecedented strain, to create these walls within himself. Losing them meant the end of all. Losing them in minutes on the whim of some inventive alien was devastating.

The pressure picked up another notch, and the mental waves echoed with his scream.

_No, please. __No. I need them. I'm not like other Vulcans. Losing control, they will still be Vulcans. Respected. Accepted. I will lose everything. Not fair._

With a jolt of horror, he realized that his emotions were already taking over. Instead of trying to increase his resistance, he began to slide deeper into the pain and the indescribable sorrow he felt seeing his inner self being exposed bit by bit. He tried to concentrate. It was vital he stayed focused. Another notch. And another. His mind screamed in despair and grief, witnessing its own disintegration. Another notch. The highest setting.

When Spock opened his eyes, everything was different. The sensations, the impressions. His face was burning and wet. He licked his lips curiously and discovered they tasted like copper. The light above him seemed brighter, but strangely, he could see beyond its rim now. Not that there was anything to see, but he felt a wave of curiosity wash over him anyway. He felt his own delight at the expansion of his visual boundaries. Then he frowned, realizing his body felt numb and stiff. It was most discomforting. He felt the need to shrug at the thought that his discomfort was probably the intended goal. The thought amused him, and he nearly grinned. That was when it hit him.

He was not himself anymore. He experienced the full scale of emotions. He reached for his control and found only emptiness. Wind blowing over ruins.

He laughed. That was the funniest thing that ever happened to him in his life.

He no longer was a Vulcan.

* * *

"Better, isn't it?" The voice of his tormentor returned, sounding delighted. "I believe that does take care of one concept. Obviously Vulcans do have emotions."

Spock stopped laughing. He was half-lying, relaxed against his restraints. It was a curious sensation, he discovered. His control was gone, but his will wasn't. He found it most peculiar. What was the purpose of putting him through this? He didn't have his barriers in place anymore, but it didn't automatically turn him into a submissive puppet.

"Are you more willing to take part in our conversation now?"

Spock lifted an eyebrow. That started to sound interesting. Perhaps his captor believed he had broken not only the Vulcan in Spock, but Spock himself, completely?

"You still haven't asked me any questions."

"True. I was thinking, Commander. I really see no point of asking you what you were doing on board this ship. It's somewhat... tedious. Besides, your companion was excessively lucid about it."

Spock felt his heartbeat pick up the pace, but forced himself to remain silent. _He might be bluffing. He might want to know whether I was alone or not._

"Of course, after your partner sabotaged our engines, there wasn't any point asking you about your objective. It's abundantly clear."

Of course. That's why the ship dropped out of warp so suddenly! Luca must have found a way to stall them. Probably couldn't risk leaving it for later. He was always good in those 'now or never' situations. But that didn't necessarily mean they had found him.

"Also, if I'm not mistaken, you are the one who killed the Ambassador."

"No." Spock suddenly felt fed up with this particular accusation. "I did not."

"Why, do you wish to offend me, Mr. Spock? My people pride themselves on our justice system. We don't detain innocent people. We don't interrogate them."

"If you believe they are guilty from the beginning, why question them at all?"

"Ah, but you see, it's so... invigorating to determine the measure of their guilt, their motives, their methods. Our greatest literature is devoted to this."

"Seems to be a rather redundant way of applying creative skills."

"Passing judgment on another race, are we, Commander? Most unbecoming a Starfleet officer, I believe. But I understand the day must have been quite stressful for you. I'll be generous and excuse your lack of manners."

"You are being too kind to me."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, either. You intrigue me, Mr. Spock. Would you mind to my asking a personal question?"

"I never understood the pleasure my human colleagues drew from this," Spock said, almost as if thinking aloud. "Always seemed an unnecessary and distasteful use of language. Now I believe I know better." He took a deep breath and, with a grin of utmost pleasure, let it out. "Go to hell."

"You disappoint me, Commander. I wasn't even going to ask you about anything important. No secret codes, no strategic information. Just a small thing. What is your mother's name?"

Spock stiffened. Until this moment, he hadn't realized that the game they played was only at its debut. He said nothing.

"Oh, but it's such a small concession, almost a formality," his tormentor coaxed. "What does it matter? I'm not going to harm your mother. I'm only asking for a little gesture of good will. It isn't so much now, is it? Here, let me go first. My mother's name was Ulani. See? It's not so difficult."

Spock remained silent.

"Very well. If you insist on being stubborn, you leave me no choice."

A door whooshed open and closed somewhere outside his field of vision. There was a rustle of movement, a series of squawking sounds, and then someone was standing at his side, looking down at him with cold menace. A Legourian, Spock realized, studying the silhouette. There was nothing but silence. Spock had never felt so helpless or exposed in his life. He waited for what was to come quietly, but the action was unexpected.

The Legourian touched him. Nothing ominous, just a set of cold, bony fingers pressing lightly into his upturned palm.

Spock's world exploded with pain.

Alien, foreign, intense emotions coursed through him like death rays. That was the reason for his earlier ordeal, that was the purpose of destroying his shielding. No human could ever be subjected to this. It took the telepath in him to feel every bit of anger, of dark, vast hatred splashing over him, every drop of fury and contempt, and that stinging feeling of pleasure taken in his suffering. He couldn't tell where the mental pain ended and the physical began, as he tensed in his restraints helplessly, unable to fight.

"There," he heard vaguely, as if through a fog, and realized that the contact was severed. "You wouldn't want me to ask them to do that again? I do not enjoy witnessing your pain, I assure you."

Spock didn't think he could breathe.

"There are more of them waiting for their turn. For some reason I can't possibly fathom, they don't seem to like you. Now, be reasonable, Mr. Spock. I'm asking for such a small, insignificant thing. Just tell me your mother's name, and it will all be over. Lie to me if you have to. I'll let you go immediately."

Spock closed his eyes, not knowing if he managed to shake his head or only wished to do so.

"I can see it will take time to convince you." A regretful sigh. "But I assure you, in the end, you will concede."

The rest was a blur. There was another Legourian, and another. Spock stopped counting at five. After the seventh, he was no longer cognizant of his own actions. But it took some more to finally make him scream, and he repeated the name until his lungs threatened to collapse, his lips forming it stubbornly when he no longer had a voice.

Just as he was reaching the brink of oblivion, the voice sounded in his ear again, gentle and deadly.

"I seem to have underestimated you. It would have been so much easier if you conceded. But of course if you must insist, we'll have a round two. For you see, I am quite certain that your mother's name isn't Jim."

There was another touch, a feather-light whisper at the tip of his ear, a shuddering, searing-hot contact.

And then, Spock lost it.


	7. Seven

**A/N**: I apologize for the unscheduled break. My muse demanded a vacation, and I had no choice but to oblige her. But we're back on track now!

--------

**Seven**

--------

"Captain, you're not going to believe this!" Uhura announced suddenly. Her voice rang loudly over the grim quiet of concentration on the Bridge. "I'm getting a hail from the Legourian vessel. They're asking for help!"

Snap. Snap. Snap. Heads turned in her direction.

"They're—_what_?" Kirk asked, stunned. "Uhura, are you sure you're reading this right?"

"Yes, sir. They are transmitting a general distress call. Some kind of engine problem... nothing specific."

"I'm detecting them now on long range sensors," Kerr confirmed.

"This can't be right." Kirk sprang out of his chair and crossed to Uhura's station. "They must be aware they're still in Federation space."

"They are, Captain, but why would they care?" Kerr asked, straightening up and facing the others. "They don't know that _we_ know that they have our people aboard their ship. Which, if I may, sir, we still don't know exactly."

"They are aboard," Kirk said with strange conviction. "At least, Spock is."

"Even so, sir," Kerr inclined her head softly. "The Legourians may not yet be aware of their presence themselves."

"Aye, she's got a point," Scott nodded. "That shielding of theirs might work either way. If Mr. Spock has been keeping a low profile—"

"Spock?" Kirk asked him ironically. "I don't think we'd be that lucky, Mr. Scott. If Spock was inclined to stay put, he'd still be in that brig."

"If I may, sir," Kerr interjected. "If Captain Radek is with him, the chances are even less."

"There you go," Kirk pursed his lips grimly. "For the moment, we'll work under the assumption that they are both there and in custody. But I think you're right, Scotty. If the Legourians so much as suspected that we know, they would never transmit a distress signal."

"And if we pretend to be on general patrol..."

"They might even invite us in, for all we know," Kirk concluded. "Uhura, I want you to jam their signal."

She stared at him. "Captain?"

"You heard me. There might be other starships in the area, and I don't want anyone to get to them before we do. I need you to block their signal as best you can. I know it's not exactly by the book, but I need you to do it."

"Aye, sir," she acknowledged succinctly.

"Mr. Chekov," Kirk said, stepping back down to the inner rim. "Plot a course towards the Legourian vessel. Mr. Sulu, I want to be there yesterday."

"Aye, sir."

"Mr. Scott, Lieutenant Kerr, we have a problem," Kirk looked from one to the other pointedly. "Obviously, we won't be able to scan them. And we have to."

"Captain, I've been thinking it over," Kerr said. "And I might have a possible solution. When my former ship had a run-in with the Orions, we used a wave resonator to break through the interference they created to fool our sensors. Given the Legourians' occupation, it stands to reason they'd be using similar technology."

"They must be," Scott said pensively. "The composition of that ship of theirs isn't all that special, one of the most primitive duranium alloys. It couldn't possibly deflect our scans."

Kirk looked skeptical.

"But couldn't it be some kind of cloak?"

"Nah," Scott shook his head. "One thing we do know about cloaks it that power consumption is enormous. Their ship simply doesn't produce that much energy."

"So you're saying..."

"Most likely they've got some kind of sophisticated wave amplifier. They might have found a way to use reverse polarities simultaneously. It's a tricky job, but if done correctly and to several wave bands at once, it'll confuse the hell out of any sensor."

"I agree," Kerr nodded. "It's the most reasonable assumption."

"Yes, it does sound that way, doesn't it?" Kirk mused. "The question is, what do we do about it? That resonator of yours—will it work?"

Scott and Kerr shared a concerned glance.

"Assuming our hypothesis is correct, it should," Kerr said, but she sounded wary.

Kirk couldn't miss it.

"I sense a big 'but' there, Lieutenant."

"Well, sir, it's unlikely they've been able to hide from everyone for so long just by mixing up one frequency band," Scott grimaced slightly. "In order to counteract the effects, we'll have to find and disable all wave bands involved."

"And it could take time, Captain," Kerr said. "Plus, we can't do it from the _Enterprise_. We'll have to somehow beam the resonator and the operator aboard their vessel."

"This is getting better and better," Kirk grunted, rubbing at his eyes. "All right, let's deal with one thing at a time. Assemble the resonator and be prepared to go. I'll deal with the Legourians when we get there."

"Yes, sir."

"We'll work in Engineering, Captain."

"Hurry."

Slowly, Kirk walked back to his chair and sat down. But almost instantly, he got up again, as if unable to stay still for more than thirty seconds. Involuntarily, he glanced over to the Science station, now deserted, and cursed mutely. Wishing Spock were there wasn't helping his composure.

He was out on a limb here and he knew it. Too many assumptions. Too many suppositions that might prove wrong. No one questioned his judgment, and it was strangely unnerving. His crew was used to his 'leaps of intuition' as Bones had called them. That occasional spark of unexplained brilliance that got them out of so many no-win situations.

But when he pulled one of those, he could always be sure of his reasoning being double-checked by Spock's dispassionate logic. Of course, Kirk had always been the one to make the final decision, but he wasn't completely above rational logic himself and only went with his intuition if Spock's arguments weren't convincing enough to make him reconsider. They had been learning from each other, and Kirk knew that if he really flew off the handle and allowed his emotions to get the better of him, Spock would be there to keep him in check. Spock wouldn't ever allow him to take action that would invariably hurt the ship and crew, his Vulcan loyalty to his commander notwithstanding.

As annoying as it had been at times, it was also reassuring. Spock often acted as his own personal fail-safe device, steadfast and reliable, like a Swiss army knife. It wasn't that they argued often. Spock had obviously observed enough of him to grant him a huge leeway for would-be illogical decisions. Kirk suspected that his desperate 'save our skins' chess strategies had a lot to do with that. He had never known a person who could connect the dots and weave the most contradictory pieces together better than Spock could. Sometimes the connections the Vulcan made looked so inexplicable and so far beyond the reach of a casual observer that they almost appeared intuitive as well.

Which was ironic really. Spock often teased him about his flights of inspiration, convinced that they, too, were the result of logical evaluation, running so deep within that Kirk's conscious mind wouldn't register it, instead labeling his decisions as 'lucky guesses'. They had a lot of fun debating the issue, particularly when McCoy joined them, but the truth was, it didn't really matter who was right. The simple fact about him and Spock was _they worked_. Every time, without fail.

Kirk sighed quietly. Where the safety of the ship was concerned, he could trust Scotty as much as he trusted Spock. The Engineer was probably even less prone to letting him take any brash action. He never underestimated Scott's expertise and knew that he was more than qualified for the job.

It just didn't feel the same.

Deep down inside, Kirk suspected Scott was just as unhappy with the arrangements as the Captain. Kirk could have sworn there was a spring in Scott's step as he left the Bridge for Engineering. Amusing as it was, Kirk couldn't blame him. He would have given a lot for things to be business as usual.

"Mr. Chekov, what's our ETA?"

"Thirty-two minutes, Keptin," the Navigator answered promptly.

"Man the scanners," Kirk told him.

"Aye, sir."

He watched Chekov changing location and shook his head inwardly. Kirk could see the tension emanating from the Ensign in waves. Chekov seemed so much in place on the main Bridge crew, it was easy to forget sometimes how young he really was. Yet, even though his rigid posture gave away the strain, he appeared composed and focused, and trying hard to keep it that way, concentrating on the job at hand.

Well, Kirk thought with a soft smile. Working long hours with Spock did have that effect on people. The Vulcan was sometimes vindictively meticulous, and those junior officers who dared show their impatience lived to regret it very much indeed. McCoy had once accused Spock of purposefully increasing the level of stress in his department, to which Spock answered that at least his subordinates didn't jump upon hearing a loud noise the way half the nurses in Sick Bay did. It didn't help any that Bones and Spock were periodically at war over qualified research personnel, a war which Spock usually won.

His smile faded, as he stared at the viewscreen again. That major part of him that was the captain urged his ship to go faster, longing for action. There was the other part though, the one that he was trying to appease with light memories and thoughts in order to distract it from slowly going crazy. That part of him was apparently a closet coward, for it wished they would never reach the Legourian vessel and he would never see what they had done to his First Officer. That part was completely inappropriate and illogical, and it had no place on his Bridge. He tried to banish it, to suppress it, wishing he had some of that formidable Vulcan self-control. It was bad enough that this part prevented him from getting any sleep not colored by vivid nightmares. Determinedly, he concentrated and smashed the door closed in its face.

"Lieutenant, how are we doing?" Kirk stopped at Uhura's chair.

"The jamming signal is in place, Captain," she said, frowning. "Whether or not anyone intercepted the call before that, I couldn't say."

"I'll take it," Kirk said. "About the jam, though. If anyone enters the zone, will they be able to tell the source?"

Uhura shrugged, looking decidedly displeased with herself.

"They'll be able to tell it's being created by a Starfleet vessel, but they likely won't be able to tell which one."

"Likely?"

"It's the best I can do, sir."

"I didn't mean to belittle your work," he assured her. "It's quite inventive."

"Yes," she drawled unhappily. "That'll serve me well on my court-martial."

He patted her on the shoulder lightly. "We're not there yet."

"We're entering visual range, Captain," Sulu reported.

"On screen."

The Legourian vessel was there, looking as strangely ill-proportioned as ever. Maybe even more. Kirk remembered faintly McCoy calling it 'a penguin turned inside out'. The Captain was certain he had never seen a more instinctively repulsive design in his life.

Stepping down to his chair, Kirk opened a link to Engineering.

"Status, Mr. Scott?"

"We're ready with the resonator, Captain."

"Good, then I need you on the Bridge."

Was that a sigh?

"Aye, sir."

Kirk felt a wave of anticipation wash over him. _So it begins_. He finally sat down, steadying himself before the fight. Somehow, he didn't believe in this particular peaceful resolution.

"They are hailing us," Uhura said, just as Scott entered the Bridge.

"Go ahead," Kirk nodded.

In a moment, the view had changed showing what appeared to be the insides of the Legourian ship. One of the aliens, mercifully not the same one who had yelled at Commander Britty, was blinking at them nervously, his crest standing at full height on his head.

"Captain Kirk, USS _Enterprise_," Kirk said, in a casual, would-be lame tone. "We received your distress signal. How can we be of assistance?"

"Grrtl'klak."

Kirk raised his eyebrows.

"I take it that is your name?"

"W' h've pr'bl'ms w'th 'ne 'f our 'ngin's. R'qu're r'pairs."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Kirk said, glancing at Scott briefly. "If you transmit your telemetry readings to us so that my Chief Engineer can take a look, I'm sure we'll be able to help you."

The Legourian inclined his head, and then the visual contact broke.

"Receiving telemetry, Captain," Sulu said, peering at his monitor.

Scott was already on the move towards his station. He gave several mumbled grunts as he studied the readings.

"Report," Kirk prompted him softly.

Scott straightened up, looking distinctly smug.

"Very old, Captain. Don't know where they picked it up. Probably their grandmother's dowry."

"Mr. Scott," Kirk's gaze became sterner. "The condition of the engine, if you please?"

Scott shrugged.

"Well, according to this, they have one of their main drives fused and the backup's inhibited."

"How fast can you fix it?"

"Shouldn't take more than twenty minutes."

"And how long will it take for the resonator to find all the repolarized frequencies?"

"About three hours if we're lucky."

"Well then, Mr. Scott. I suggest you update your repairs estimate to three hours."

Scott's jaw dropped. He looked at Kirk as if he was raving.

"But, Captain... How am I supposed to do that?"

Kirk raised his eyebrows, schooling his expression carefully.

"You're the Engineer, Mr. Scott. You'll think of something."

Scott looked devastated. "In three hours I can dismantle the whole engine and put it back together—"

"Then do it."

"—three times!"

"Scotty..."

"Aye," Scott sighed. "But if I am to work this slowly, I'm gonna need help."

"Lieutenant Kerr will join you to operate the resonator. I wouldn't object to you taking someone from Engineering along."

"Aye," Scott nodded grimly. The look on his face stated clearly that he was already thinking of how to solve his current engineering dilemma.

Suppressing a rather untimely bolt of amusement, Kirk turned towards the Science station.

"Mr. Chekov, don't take your eyes off the scanners. The moment you're able to detect life signs, transmit your readings to the Transporter Room. Uhura, alert them, and apprise our Legourian friends Mr. Scott will be coming over... with a party."

"Aye, sir."

"Scotty, keep your eyes open, and call the moment there's any trouble. I will not lose more officers over this. Understood?"

Scott blinked, coming out of his musings.

"Aye, sir." His expression softened mildly as his eyes fixed on the Captain's face. "Don't worry, sir. We'll bring them home."

Kirk pressed his lips together hard and nodded curtly.

"Good luck."

He was about to enter what was probably the longest three hours he had ever experienced to date.

--

Pacing. Pacing, pacing, and more pacing to come after that. Kirk could not remember a time when the wait had been more excruciating. There must have been, he was sure of it.

"Anything, Mr. Chekov?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Carry on."

"Aye, sir."

Chekov, bless him, didn't show his exasperation with the exchange happening for the fourth time. Or were they into round five? Kirk shrugged expressionlessly and continued pacing.

Did this run in the family? Sam once told him that one of his earliest memories was one of their father pacing and wearing a hole in the carpet of the small and ill-equipped hospital on Melosia when his wife went into labor with his second son. Jim. Sam said he had been at it for hours, never staying off his feet, never standing still, just pacing, pacing. Sam had drifted in and out of sleep on a narrow bunk in the waiting area, because Jim's birth had taken hours.

George was scared and didn't hide it, not from his son, not from the nurses, not from himself apparently. It was exactly how it had been two years before with Carolina, the elder sister Jim had never had. Another poorly developed colony, another complicated pregnancy, and now a child that had been conceived without his parents' conscious agreement was struggling to come into the world five weeks too early.

He was always in a hurry, wasn't he? And he had always been a survivor. It was only the wait that he couldn't stand.

"Anything, Lieutenant?"

"No signs of other ships in the vicinity, Captain. But our scanning capacity is limited at the moment."

"Yes, of course. Keep an eye on it, Mr. Sulu. We don't want any unexpected guests."

"Yes, sir."

Pacing, pacing.

No, Kirk thought, perhaps it wasn't so much a family trait, but rather something he and his father shared exclusively. Sam had always been his mother's son; the two of them so calm and cool, and so much more predisposed towards the quiet, contemplative wisdom of the Keebles, than towards the temperamental wear-their-hearts-on-their-sleeves Kirks. Sometimes Kirk asked himself if he had managed to inherit anything at all from his mother. He could definitely use some of her restraint right now.

"How long has it been?"

Uhura looked up at him.

"Two hours forty-six minutes, Captain."

"They're cutting it a bit close, aren't they?"

"I'm sure they're working as fast as they can, sir."

"Yes," he gave her an absent smile. "Yes, of course they are."

More pacing.

'_Mom, listen...'_

'_I already know, Jim.'_

'_But...'_

'_Maybe when it's your turn, they'll call me before it hits the newscasts.'_

'_What? Mom, I didn't know it __was already... Look, I couldn't just drop everything. I had a goddamned planet to save!'_

'_That's what he said, too. But what I wonder is why it's always other people you're saving, but you can't save your own.'_

'_Mom... I really tried. But I was... too late.'_

'_You're always too late for your own family, Jimmy. Just like your father.'_

Of course, she apologized later. Said she didn't blame him. But she wasn't looking at him when she said it, and he knew what it meant. He was supposed to be his brother's keeper and failed.

Sam was his first childhood hero. His father enthralled him, utterly, but his father was so rarely home. Sam was his shiny star. Sam, who seemed to know everything; who had an answer to any question; who told the most enchanting stories to make him sleep; who invented the most exciting adventures; who challenged him to learn to keep up. Sam, who made him feel so absurdly proud for how smart he was, and kind, and reasonable, and somehow just so much _better_ than Jimmy, as if he were a being from another reality, where all things were better, purer. And at the same time, incredibly, Sam was so undeniably, unmistakably, sincerely _related_ to him.

It was strange, given his competitive nature, but he was never jealous of Sam. It was even stranger, given the vector of their age difference, but the dominant emotion he often felt towards Sam was protectiveness. By the time he was eight, the whole neighborhood knew that if you messed with Sam Kirk, you were gonna get hell from Jimmy. And even at that tender age, his ferociousness was something to be seriously considered before picking a fight.

They rarely fought among themselves. Somehow, Sam was always above all things too down-to-earth. Much like Winona. Both of them used to chide Jimmy for his impulsiveness and both of them secretly adored it. Sometimes Jim did the wildest things just to see their reaction. He used to be reckless in his escapades, but he always felt safe. He was home and he was happy.

It changed the year he turned thirteen. Everything changed. His father's death turned his world upside down. His hurt and anger needed release and his mother and brother's reaction to the news made them a very convenient target. He hadn't quite reconciled with either of them before he left for Tarsus. And after he came back, nothing was the same again.

He and Sam never went back to that innocent era of mutual adoration. There was love, yes. But a lot of hurt, also. A lot of guilt. A lot of estrangement. And when he lost Sam on Deneva, he felt that his mother had every right to blame him.

Pacing, pacing.

_Pacing_.

He had only survived Deneva because he'd locked his emotions, all his emotions, in a black box within his mind, never to see the day light. If he had allowed himself to feel back then, even for an instant, he would have lost those million lives. He wouldn't have been able to think with an emotional overload like that. Sam, Aurelan, Peter, Spock. Whenever he thought of Sam, he felt guilt, and it had so many layers, so many sides, that analyzing it was like taking a bath in acid. He'd lost one brother. And now he was on the verge of losing someone who was so much more.

He had never before realized that Spock had put him under pretty much the same spell Sam had, all those years ago. Only Jim was an adult now. And Spock wasn't exactly his brother. And that meant... What the hell did that mean?

Kirk closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples, trying to scare away the upcoming headache. It was the wrong time to feel confused. And it wasn't really that complicated, at least not at the moment. Yes, Spock hurt him, intentionally or not, by running away on him like that. But it didn't matter. Spock might not have wanted his help anymore, might not have needed his protection, but it didn't make him feel any less responsible for his life and well-being. It shouldn't have been all that different from what he felt towards any other member of his crew, but it was different. It was personal. Deeply personal. The thought that he might be having the same kind of conversation with Amanda that he had had with his own mother made cold sweat break out on his spine.

Bones would have probably told him that it was all right. That it was normal for him to have the same emotions, as did the other human beings. But he wasn't like the others, was he? He was in command. He couldn't afford those emotions. He didn't want them. They impaired his judgment, undermined his vision, and they hurt, plain and simple. When they managed to live through this crisis, when Starfleet was safe and sound again, if Spock was back at his side, back on the _Enterprise_ and not going anywhere, then Kirk could think about it. Not before. And it would probably be a good idea to keep away from the Vulcan, too.

"Keptin, receiving a message from Lieutenant Kerr," Chekov announced excitedly. "She's transmitting the sensor adjustments."

"Implement immediately, Mr. Chekov."

"Aye, sir... Got them! Three humans in one location—that'd be our away team, another human not so far away... and a Vulcan, he's in another part of the ship."

"Transfer coordinates to the Transporter Room immediately."

"Captain, Mr. Scott is signaling," Uhura said. "They're ready to return."

Kirk punched the button on the armrest of his chair.

"Transporter Room, do you have the lock on them all?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Energize," he looked at the Science station. "Mr. Chekov, I have a feeling I'm going to need you on weapons control right about now."

"Aye, sir!" the young Navigator almost jumped into the inner rim.

"Captain, the Legourian vessel is moving into attack position," Sulu said, watching his monitor intently. "They're charging weapons."

"Transporter Room, do you have them?"

"Not yet, sir. There's some kind of interference—"

"Keptin, they're firing!"

Kirk straightened up, grabbing the armrest for support as the deck lurched from under his feet.

"Evasive action, Mr. Sulu! Mr. Chekov, prepare to return fire."

Another blast shook them thoroughly, causing the lights to blink several times.

"Damage report!" Kirk snapped, picking himself up from the deck and wiping blood off his forehead.

"They're concentrating fire on our port nacelle!" Chekov said, choking as the smoke from the short-circuited panel reached him. "Another blast and we'll lose it! We have to raise shields!"

"Captain, sections twenty-four to twenty-eight on decks eight to eleven are decompressed!" Uhura yelled over her shoulder, trying to sound over the continuing blasts and commotion. "We're losing life support on the entire port section!"

"Emergency bulkheads—"

"Holding, sir. Damage control teams have been dispatched. We—"

"Transporter Room, status!"

"Everyone aboard, sir! Condition—"

Kirk cut him off, whirling towards Chekov.

"Raise shields!"

"Keptin, shields inoperable!"

"Does anything work around here?"

"Phasers, sir—"

"Then fire at will, Mr. Chekov."

"Direct hit!" Sulu exclaimed. "Their shields are holding, but they are retreating!"

"What?"

"Shall I continue firing, Keptin?"

"No," Kirk shook his head, looking up from Sulu's scanner. "I have a feeling we're going to need every ounce of power to survive. Monitor their course for as long as you're able, Sulu."

"Yes, sir."

"Uhura, I need a full damage report as soon as possible."

"Aye, sir."

"Bridge to Transporter Room," Kirk opened the channel again. "Status of the away team?"

"Sir, Mr. Scott has already left for Engineering. The rest of the team requires medical attention. They're on their way to Sick Bay now."

Kirk closed his eyes for a split second. The question was already at the tip of his tongue, and yet he managed to hold it. If he asked now, he'd be good for nothing for who knows how long after that.

"Thank you, Kirk out." _That's right. That's the spirit._"Mr. Sulu, I'll be in Engineering. You have the conn."

"Aye, sir."

Uhura threw an alarmed gaze at him, but he ignored her.

"Damage report, Lieutenant," he reminded her, as he walked past her station. "And apprise me immediately if there's any more trouble."

"Yes, sir," she said, still watching him with that half-surprised, half-hurt expression.

He disappeared into the turbolift and banished all irrelevant thoughts forcibly out of his mind.

--

Scott, as it turned out, wasn't in Engineering by the time Kirk had gotten there. While chasing his Chief Engineer around the ship, the Captain got a first-hand view of the damage inflicted on his vessel. It was devastating. He had rarely seen his ship sustain this much damage, and the timing couldn't have been worse. Kirk cursed mutely, dodging the wreckage, watching the repair crews scatter around like crocked horses, hardly taking any notice of him. It wasn't the first time that he admired the complexity of the world that was a starship, where everyone and everything had its place and purpose.

He finally caught up with Scott on the catwalk inside the damaged nacelle. Scott looked crestfallen.

"How bad, Mr. Scott?"

"Very bad, Captain," Scott replied miserably.

Kirk could see that. Parts of the outer hull were simply missing, the structural integrity only depending on the thin veils of emergency forcefields. If they had been at warp when that blast hit...

"I cut the power flow," Scott said grimly. "Barely in time, or we'd be floating out there in too many pieces."

"Can you repair the damage?"

Scott glanced at him as if he were mad.

"Captain, I don't even have the slightest idea what's keeping us alive now. This," he gestured at the wrinkled material of the split-open nacelle, "shoulda done us in as fast as a core breach. It can't be repaired in space."

"So what do we do?" Kirk frowned, putting his hands on his hips defiantly. "Float out here until someone tows us to a spacedock or uses us for target practice?"

Scott shook his head.

"Warp speed is out of the question. But I might be able to get us back on impulse."

"How much time do you need?"

"I don't know that yet, either. But no less than twenty to twenty-four hours." Seeing Kirk's grimace, he cringed, his expression hardening. "Captain, we're beat. If ye ask me to conjure up a new nacelle out of thin air, ye'd better give me a magic wand."

Kirk shook his head, placing a hand on a taut shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Scotty. I know you'll do everything you can. I'm just thrown out a little by... everything."

"Aye." Scott's gaze softened immediately as he studied the other man. "Is Mr. Spock any better?"

Kirk winced, stepping away from him. The innocent question had brought up all the unwanted, potentially hindering thoughts he was trying to avoid. It happened so swiftly and so unexpectedly that he couldn't help but feel ambushed.

"I don't know," he said grimly. "I haven't been to Sick Bay yet."

Surprise registered on Scott's face, but only for a moment. He looked away, mercifully refraining from comments or supplying Kirk with more information he so desperately didn't need.

"Captain, I need more people," Scott said instead. "As soon as we restore life support, I need everyone who can tell a power coupling from a jigsaw puzzle in Engineering."

"You got them," Kirk nodded readily. "Take people from Maintenance. I'll send down everyone from Sciences who can be of use. Do you need anything else?"

"A lucky charm," Scott grunted. "I'll let ye know, Captain."

Kirk clapped him on the back, somewhat mechanically.

"We're in your hands, Scotty."

"Captain?" Scott turned after him. "About the Legourian engine?"

"Yes?" Kirk asked cautiously.

"I don't think they'll get very far with it, sir," his Engineer intoned pensively. "It's just an opinion of course."

Kirk pursed his lips.

"Mr. Scott, you didn't sabotage their engines further, by any chance?"

"Captain!" Scott looked properly indignant, though overdoing it slightly. "I'm an engineer, not a saboteur!"

"Yes, of course, Mr. Scott," Kirk drawled repentantly. "My apologies. So. How long do you think they'll be able to stay at warp? In your expert opinion, of course?"

"Five-six hours," Scott replied nonchalantly. "Then, who knows."

Kirk couldn't hold his grin any longer.

"Mr. Scott, the Federation might well be in your debt."

Scott shrugged smartly. "It was a very old engine."

There was no telling where the Legourians would be in five hours, of course, but even so, the chances of locating them again had just picked up several notches.

Kirk was still grinning as he climbed back down, but as his feet touched the deck, his mirth evaporated. His schedule was set for him and there was no more hiding and no more evading the inevitable. He'd get a damage report from Uhura. And then, he'd have nothing left to do but to head for Sick Bay.

Information was there, and he needed that information to make his next move in the Big Game they were playing. Trouble was, Spock was there also, apparently in bad shape. Kirk didn't like the look in Scott's eyes when he asked about him, not one bit. And Scott wasn't an easy man to impress.

_Dammit_.

He needed to find a way to pull himself through it somehow. After all, he had lost people before. And Spock wasn't—shouldn't be any different. Spock was just another officer. A capable one, but not incredibly special in any way. He should make an effort to remember that.

Or, he'd lose it.


	8. Eight

--------

**Eight**

--------

When Kirk finally entered Sick Bay, he had managed to still himself to the point of numb apathy. It wasn't unlike shooting himself with a dose of potent painkiller before having his gut split open. He might not be a Vulcan, but he could turn off his emotions just fine when he really needed to. He wasn't even sure he did it consciously.

Sick Bay was a hive of activity. Kirk had been apprised beforehand of the number of casualties they suffered in the Legourian attack, but seeing so many injured crewmembers in one place did little to raise his spirits. He gave a sympathetic pat here, an occasional nod there, but mostly he tried to keep his distance. He didn't want to risk breaking his single-minded focus, and besides it wasn't what he had come here for.

Kirk spotted him from afar and recognized him immediately. He had noticed long before that some people had a way of looking impressive and manly even in the fuzziest of settings, and Luca Radek was apparently in that category. Kirk walked over to him through the crowded room, his eyes never leaving the man as if he was a photon torpedo locked on target.

"Captain Radek, I presume?"

Radek looked at him without being either surprised or startled, and Kirk couldn't help but give him a point for that. He didn't immediately try to stand up, too, as it would have prevented a nurse from finishing applying bandages to his arm. It didn't stop him though from sizing Kirk up quickly with a glance, concentrating on his eyes so fast, the whole thing could have been imagined.

"Captain Kirk."

Kirk gave him a quick once-over and then turned to the nurse questionably.

"Can you finish later?"

She didn't look pleased, good nurse that she obviously was, but it was evident that Radek's injuries were hardly life threatening.

"Yes, sir," she said, flashed a warm smile at Radek, and left them.

Radek did stand up then.

"I seem to owe you my life, Captain," he spoke in a pleasant, surprisingly deep voice. "Thank you. The Legourian style of space travel..." he shook his head. "If it wasn't for your timely intervention, Spock and I would be very dead now."

Kirk frowned slightly. He couldn't quite decide which part of the statement he liked less, the one about a premature end or this very casual 'Spock and I' part. He decided to try and act his age and ignored it all together.

"You're welcome," he said. "Though to be honest, getting information about what's happening was our main goal."

"Yes, I've noticed that your ship is operating under closed doors," Radek noted. "I don't mean to sound rude, Captain, but before this conversation goes any further, I must know whose orders you're acting on."

Kirk raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly. It was not a pleasant smile.

"You're questioning me—on my own ship?"

Radek sighed.

"Captain, I don't mean to undermine your authority in any way and I apologize for breaking the naval etiquette, but neither you nor I have any time for this. You said you needed information. I can give it to you, but I must know who you're working for first. It's simply too important to waste time on irrelevant matters."

"Yes, it would probably be illogical," Kirk said acidly, trying to check the impulse and failing. Radek was right, this was neither the time nor the place. Yet he found it so difficult to control himself for some reason. Every word Radek said sounded like a challenge to his ears, and he was having a hard time getting a hold of himself. "I don't work for anyone," he told Radek levelly. "I've closed the doors because there's a Big Game going on, and I don't know whom I can trust."

"A Big Game?" Radek stared at him, but his confusion was only momentary. "Yes, of course. It does make perfect sense. Spock and I thought it was merely a Security operation gone bad..."

Kirk blinked. Was he doing this on purpose? He shook his head slightly and tried not to cringe. He almost succeeded.

"It looks like we're both independent agents here," Radek mused. "And Spock said I could trust you."

Kirk had to control his expression very carefully indeed. He was quite impressed with his own self-control, actually. Radek seemed oblivious to his struggle.

"I'll tell you everything I know," he said. "But it's a long story."

"Shorten it." Kirk didn't miss a beat. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but my ship's in bad shape and at the moment I have about fifty urgent matters to attend to. I don't have time for long stories."

Radek actually leaned back slightly and took a moment to study him, which aggravated Kirk even more. He held himself in check with enormous effort, fighting the impulse to either strike the man or throw him in the brig.

"Very well, sir," Radek said, inclining his head ever so slightly and without actually looking down.

Kirk listened to him impassively, no longer trying to actively stare him down, but still keeping a somewhat aggressive hands-on-hips stance. Radek's report was succinct and concentrated on facts, without making any detours to his own thoughts or feelings on the matter. His style would have made a Vulcan proud. When he finally came down to the part when he and Spock separated and he managed to disable the engines, Kirk held up a hand, stalling him.

"Let me get this straight. You drugged my First Officer, lied to him, set him up as a murder suspect, broke him out of jail so that you could use him again—and Spock went along with this? Voluntarily?"

Radek folded his arms across his chest and didn't back off.

"I'm not proud of what I've done, Captain. But I believe I was clear that most of what happened on the station was an unfortunate accident. And if you had any idea, however remote, about what kind of man your First Officer is, you would have known by now that Spock can't be forced by anyone to do anything against his will."

"I don't need you to tell me what kind of man my First Officer is."

"And I don't see the reason for your hostility. You know as well as I do that Starfleet isn't all about honors and medals. It's a lot of dirty work as well, and someone has to do it. I'm sure there were some assignments you wouldn't want to talk about. I used the best means I had available, just as you would have done in my place. I explained this to Spock, and he doesn't have a problem with that. So quite frankly, Captain, I can't see why you would."

Something very dark stirred within Kirk at these words. Something that had been dormant for years.

"Well, I do have a problem with that, whether you see why or not, Mister," Kirk snapped. "You used him!"

"And you didn't? He's been an officer under your command for over two years. Do you mean to tell me that in all this time you never used him to achieve your goal?"

Flashes of memory came unbidden.

_...__ 'Captain, you're asking me to work with equipment which is hardly very far ahead of stone knives and bearskins.' _

'_Yes, well, it would pose an extremely complex problem in logic, Mr. Spock. Excuse me. I sometimes expect too much of you.'..._

_... 'I'm sorry, Mr. Spock. Y__ou're best qualified to go.' ..._

_... 'Spock. My friend Spock. If there'd only been another way.' ..._

"I'm sorry, Captain," Radek was shaking his head, watching him. "But I'm a Command officer, too, and I will never believe in that. No ship and no captain functions like that. It's not an issue of morality. It's the nature of the service."

Kirk suddenly felt his anger abated, as if faced with a particularly foul reflection in the mirror. _That's different!_ He protested mutely. _I don't like doing that. I have no choice!_ But of course, much as he wanted for some reason for Luca Radek to be a selfish bastard, he knew that he must have had no more choice than Kirk himself. Justice never tasted bitterer.

"Yes, that would be very naïve of me to try and convince you otherwise," Kirk said with a dry smile. "I apologize, Captain. I don't usually attack injured people in Sick Bay."

Radek's grin was somehow more sincere.

"I understand, Captain. I, too, was out of line. I feel guilty as hell about all this mess, and I'm worried about Spock. We've been friends for so many years, and now he may be dying in there."

The words didn't affect him. He had surmised as much—from the startled voice of the transporter technician, from the tense inflections in Scott's tone, from the nervous looks the nurses kept shooting his way, from the fact that he hadn't heard from Bones ever since it had started. The knowledge kept sinking in, strengthened by his own gut feeling. It kept trickling into some kind of void inside him, and he kept purposefully looking the other way.

"We seem to have drifted off of our subject," he reminded Radek blandly. "You were saying something about the memory chips."

Radek looked at him strangely, but nodded.

"Yes. I believe when you examine them, you'll discover..." he trailed off at the sound of some really unusual commotion coming from the intensive care unit.

There was a loud noise; a sound of something smashing into the wall; a woman's scream; a phaser discharge, and on top of everything, came McCoy's voice, bellowing, for the Doctor was clearly beyond himself. A chorus of angry and agitated voices followed suit.

Kirk found himself on the move before he knew it. No way it was a conscious decision on his part, but strangely, he wasn't thinking at all right at that moment. He paid no attention to people dashing out of his way, nor did he take notice of Radek following him closely.

"What's going on here?" Kirk demanded, taking in the chaos reigning in the ward.

Christine Chapel was in the middle of picking herself up off the floor, glaring at the Security guard. The man still held his phaser in his hand, looking confused and frightened. The second guard was standing at the opposite corner, equally stupefied. McCoy and M'Benga were depositing Spock's limp body on the biobed, and, from the looks of it, had their hands full. Even unconscious, Spock seemed to be insistent on causing trouble, his arms and legs moving without any kind of coordination, but with impressive power. Both doctors dodged them, as they worked on fixing the rebellious Vulcan in restraints.

"Dammit, people, I asked you a question," Kirk snapped.

McCoy whirled on him, letting Chapel take over. His face was glowing red and contorted in fury.

"You want to know what happened, Captain?" he yelled, shaking with anger. "That moron, who has no business being here in the first place, could think of nothing better than to mistake Sick Bay for a firing range! He stunned my patient!"

"_What_?" Kirk rounded on the Security guard, who now looked positively alarmed.

"He was violent... He attacked the Nurse and the Doctor..." the young man muttered, eyeing the Vulcan apprehensively. "I only wanted to—"

"I don't care!" McCoy advanced at him, steadily ignoring the phaser that was now pointed at him. "This is a medical facility, not a training camp, and if you don't get out of here immediately, I won't be held responsible for my actions!"

Kirk stepped swiftly between the two, breaking up the inevitable fight.

"That's enough!" he ordered sharply. "Bones, get a grip on yourself! Ensign, put that weapon down this instant and stand back!"

"But Captain—"

"That's not open for debate! I know you can't leave because we're still under closed doors, but if you so much as look at your phaser again, you'll be spending the next month in the brig, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!"

The guard retreated towards his partner, looking baffled. Kirk made a mental note to transfer them both the first chance he got. And then he really had no more excuses not to look at the bed. Not to look at Spock.

It shouldn't have been that hard, really. He'd seen his First Officer hurt before, many times. Spock wasn't exactly the champion of staying out of harm's way. Kirk had seen him injured, wounded, split open. He'd even seen him dead a couple of times, or as good as dead anyway. So it really shouldn't be having this effect on him now, as his eyes finally slid over the form tied to the bed, as if someone had kicked him in the guts. Hard.

"Condition?" he asked quietly, surprised at how even it came out.

McCoy glanced at his face and switched gears with visible effort.

"Critical."

"What did they... what did they...?"

Bones sighed.

"Mind torture, from what I could tell. Physically, he isn't that badly hurt, but his Vulcan metabolism doesn't even register—it's within equipment error margin. His brain is another matter. The scans we took show his neural pathways are all messed up, distorted, and the damage is spreading, affecting vital systems, body functions... You're not hearing a word I'm saying, are you?"

Kirk winced, finally tearing his eyes from the biobed to look at his CMO. He did miss everything after 'mind torture', but his training helped him to reconstruct McCoy's speech in matter of seconds.

"I'm with you, Doctor," he snapped, a bit more tartly than he intended. "But it'd be nice if you could translate that gibberish into a language a human being can understand."

McCoy pursed his lips, watching him.

"Very well, Captain," he said acidly. "He's just been stunned. In his condition, he should have gone out like a light. But as you can see, he's still semi-conscious, just delirious. His mind is overactive, trying to cope with the damage, but there's nothing there for it to hold on to. If I remove the skeleton from your body—your internal organs will collapse, you won't be able to use your muscles or anything, for that matter. That's roughly what's happening within his head now. Clear enough for you?"

"Can you help him?"

"Dammit, Jim, I'm not a magician!" McCoy exclaimed in exasperation. "It's his mind we're talking about. There's nothing I can do for him medically, but treat his bruises. That is, of course, if he'd let me touch him. He wouldn't even allow anyone to stand closer than five feet."

"I can't accept that," Kirk said in his best command tone. "There must be a way to help him."

"Well, if you know better, what do you need me for?" McCoy retorted irritably. "Just order him to snap out of it, why don't you?"

Kirk ignored his outburst, turning to M'Benga instead.

"Can a Healing Trance help?"

"It might," M'Benga nodded, coming closer. "It could at least bring the neural pathways back in order, and then there will be no more danger of body functions collapse. The problem is, a Healing Trance can't be induced from the outside, but Mr. Spock wouldn't initiate it."

"Why not?"

"Maybe he can't," McCoy grunted. "Maybe it's too late for that."

Kirk glanced back at M'Benga, but the younger doctor appeared dubious.

"I don't think so," he said. "If I'm reading the scans correctly, Mr. Spock has enough internal resources at hand to initiate the trance. He just wouldn't do it. For Vulcans, it's something as instinctive as sleeping off the fever is for humans. It comes naturally. He's actively fighting this instinct. It's as if he doesn't want to give up consciousness."

"Maybe he's afraid the bastards who did this to him will come for another round," McCoy suggested gravely.

"That would be a human instinct, Doctor," M'Benga remarked. "Even defenseless, the Vulcan in him should strive for reason."

"That doesn't make sense," Kirk muttered. "Vulcan or no, Spock's the most reasonable person I know. Why wouldn't he..."

Spock chose that particular moment to sit up, looking around wildly. The restraints on his arms came off, without even slowing his progress. Both nurses gasped, and the Security guards lifted their phasers simultaneously.

"Put those weapons down!" Kirk snapped. "Everyone back off! Slowly."

To their credit, they tried to comply as best they could. Trouble was, Spock apparently had other plans. He was on his feet before they knew it, eliciting several more gasps. Instantly, he assumed the defensive stance Kirk had come to know so well during their sparring matches. He was fully aware of just how quickly with Spock defense turned into offense, and he suspected that Spock's reaction time had just been reduced dramatically.

Which made him a very real threat.

"Jim, I have to sedate him," McCoy whispered urgently.

"Stay where you are," Kirk ordered briskly.

Something in his voice made McCoy give up the argument before it surfaced. Slowly, Kirk started forward.

"Spock."

The Vulcan continued to survey his surrounding rather blindly, turning his head from side to side abruptly, as if expecting an attack any moment. Kirk's sight was suddenly obscured by an absurd vision of a caged le'matya he'd seen once on a cargo ship. Looking at Spock, he could almost see a tail banging at the walls menacingly with his every move. Spock looked absolutely feral. A wild, dangerous and very angry beast. Kirk hadn't ever seen him quite like that before.

"Spock," he said again, taking another step towards him.

He kept his body language perfectly relaxed, controlling his own fighting instincts tightly. The Vulcan's head snapped towards him, and he was looking at Kirk, but obviously not seeing. He tensed, almost trembling with strain, and Kirk stilled, readying himself for what was to come. Somewhere in the back of his mind, an alarm went off, urging him to back off. He couldn't remember any hand-to-hand combat with Spock that he would have won. Not in the gym, not in real life, and definitely not when Spock wasn't in his right mind, when nothing compelled him to hold back.

_Jim, you idiot. __He's fully capable of killing you. _

He shook his head, trying to clear it.

_He hasn't yet. _

He took another step forward, and Spock jumped. Motion and sounds merged in Kirk's mind, dazed with the torrent of pain that ran through his body as he hit the deck. They rolled over, smashing medical equipment that got in the way. Nothing prevented Spock from pressing his advantage, and it took all of Kirk's survival instincts to evade a sure death in those first blindingly ferocious seconds. He could hear vaguely someone shouting that he was blocking their aim, but he couldn't afford to spend so much as a split second thinking about it. He tried to loosen Spock's grip, to throw him off, but that was a lost cause. Spock slammed him into the base of the nearest biobed, seemingly for no other reason than to prove the point.

Seeing stars wasn't exactly a novel experience for Kirk, but this time was so profound, he thought it might just be enough to do it. He slumped, abandoning all resistance, thinking that it was probably the last foolish stunt he would ever pull in his life and that the epitaph McCoy would place on his tombstone would probably say as much.

And then, the weirdest thing happened. Spock's hand that was pinning his wrist to the deck suddenly trembled, and Spock actually backed off a little, staring at him wide-eyed with shock.

"Jim?"

_Holy hell_. Someone gasped loudly, and it took Kirk a moment to realize it was him. He pushed the Vulcan off, moving to sit up, and Spock miraculously let him do it, retreating further, and only keeping hold of his wrist. But his grip wasn't crushing anymore. In fact, it felt almost timid.

"Jim?" he asked again, sounding almost frightened, like a five-year-old, tragically lost in dark woods.

"Yeah," Kirk groaned, as his body reaction caught up with him. "What's left of him anyway. Are you quite done tossing me around? Some would say it's mutiny, Mister."

Spock backed off even further, bowed his head and muttered something in Vulcan. The change in his stance was scary in its swiftness and completeness. He curled up, like a wounded animal, backing into a corner, visibly retreating from his surroundings.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Sensing the danger, Kirk moved after him quickly, gripping his shoulders. "Where do you think you're going?"

Spock muttered something incomprehensible again. The Captain shook his head impatiently.

"Spock, stay with me. You still know how to speak English, right?"

"Jim..."

"Here. I'm here, Spock. I'm not going anywhere. Was there something you wanted to tell me? Is that why you wouldn't go into trance?"

Incredibly, Spock nodded.

"Rendezvous," he said very slowly, as if trying to remember how the word should sound.

"So much for English," Kirk muttered. Then it clicked. "Rendezvous? The Legourians and their employer?"

Another nod, followed only by silence. Kirk leaned in closer, giving him the tiniest shake.

"Can you tell me?"

Spock lifted his head, still so obviously not seeing, but trying hard to concentrate. He spoke then, a sequence of figures, still in his native tongue, but that much Vulcan Kirk did know. The fact that the coordinates Spock gave him were at the border of this spatial sector only proved his coherency.

"Late?" Spock asked, with heartbreaking uncertainty.

"No, Spock," Kirk squeezed Spock's hands in his own for emphasis. "Right on time."

There was something else going on here, something important, something... Why couldn't he grasp it? It almost felt like...

"Jim."

Kirk winced. McCoy's voice came out of the blue for him. His full focus on Spock, he managed to forget completely that there were other people in the room. A great number of people, in fact. The returned awareness brought rigidness to his limbs, and Spock instantly tensed next to him, picking up on his state without effort.

_No shields_, Kirk realized in alarm. _No wonder he wouldn't let anyone touch him. Oh, Spock. This is going to be hell_.

"Clear the room, Bones," he sent over his shoulder. "Then get back here and help me."

"But, Captain—"

"I said, everyone out, Ensign," Kirk snapped at the Security guard impatiently. "Now."

"You heard him, son," McCoy's voice sounded just as stern. "Now move it."

Kirk returned his full attention to the Vulcan immediately. Spock looked more and more withdrawn with every second, and it wasn't an inspiring sight. It almost felt as if, having delivered his message, he decided he was free to slip back into self-destruct.

"Spock, don't you dare," Kirk hissed vehemently. "I haven't dismissed you yet. I have more orders for you."

Spock stiffened, pausing on the threshold. He spoke in a voice so surprisingly normal, it was nothing short of eerie.

"Orders, Captain?"

"Orders, dammit. You think I'm going to run this ship alone? I need you, Mister."

Spock's expression changed to one of utter wonder, one he probably hadn't worn since he was a child. But when he spoke, there was only doubt.

"You...?"

All right, that hurt. Despite all the arguments of reason telling him Spock couldn't possibly mean it. Couldn't possibly think... Kirk gritted his teeth, suppressing the ill-timed emotion.

"Yes, me. You must know by now that I need you, Spock. _Can't you feel it_?"

Spock stilled, as if listening. He smiled softly, his inhibitions obviously non-existent, but before Kirk could take in the incredible sight, Spock frowned deeply, his expression darkening. The Captain wisely decided not to push it.

"I need you to initiate a Healing Trance, Spock. I know you can do it. I need you to."

Spock didn't give him any kind of answer, continuing to withdraw from reality, until he slumped against the wall he was leaning on. Kirk caught him before he reached the deck, but Spock was just a dead weight in his arms, unresponsive and cold.

"Bones?" he asked, panicking, knowing without looking that McCoy was there. How did this happen anyway? One moment everything was fine, and then...

"Let's get him on the bed, Jim," the Doctor responded tensely. "I can't tell you anything yet."

Together, they managed to transfer Spock's unresisting form to the biobed, from which he had so violently escaped mere minutes earlier. Kirk looked up at the monitor, but discovered the readings were blurring and swaying. He blinked forcibly. What the hell was wrong with his vision?

A hand closed on his shoulder, and he looked up at McCoy, steadying himself for the worst. The blazing smile his CMO gave him made his knees go weak.

"The Healing Trance," he said happily. "You did it... or he did it... Anyway, he's in it. He's gonna be fine."

Kirk nodded, taking several steps away from him. He was feeling extremely dizzy and closed his eyes to stop the room from spinning around him.

"Whoa, Jim!" A strong arm around his waist was the only thing that prevented him from meeting the deck face to face for the second time in a few minutes. "Easy now. Sit down before you fall down, for Pete's sake. I'm a doctor, not a weight-lifter. There, take a breath. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Bones," Kirk waved him aside dismissively, but he couldn't deny it felt good to be seated.

"Sure, and I'm commander in chief Starfleet. Blast it. You and Spock are gonna be the end of me yet. Stay put, I'll be back in a moment."

Kirk didn't argue. He couldn't summon enough energy even if he wanted to, which he didn't. Bones was indeed only gone for a moment. The next thing Kirk knew was the soft hiss of a hypo at his shoulder.

"Hey, what was that for?" he asked, more perplexed than protesting.

"It's just a stimulant," McCoy said, scanning him. "I think this crew's been treated to enough stress today without having to watch their captain wobbling back to his cabin."

"What in the hell are you talking about? I'm going to the Bridge."

McCoy pushed him back to the chair unceremoniously, keeping his hand on Kirk's shoulder for emphasis.

"No, you're not," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. "When was the last time you slept, Captain? Or ate? Now, I'm not keeping you here because of a couple of bruises—"

"Couple of bruises?" Kirk asked indignantly. "He nearly tore me in half!"

McCoy wasn't impressed.

"Serves you right for picking a fight with a crazy Vulcan. Your body has limits, Jim. It's past time you learned that."

Kirk grunted incoherently, but couldn't come up with an immediate answer. McCoy nodded, looking him over with satisfaction.

"As of now, you are off duty. Get back to your cabin and get some decent sleep, for God's sake. I'll have someone bring you a meal when you're up."

"Bones! You can't just send me off duty for no reason!"

"No reason?" McCoy looked at him incredulously. "Jim, what just happened here is reason enough to lock both of you up and subject you to a number of highly unpleasant tests. Do you realize, _Captain_, that you lost all awareness for a total amount of fifteen seconds back there? Not to mention purposefully endangered your life against all reason? Do you know what I'm supposed to do, having seen all that?"

Kirk stared at him. What his CMO was saying was serious enough to relieve him of command permanently. Seeing his expression, McCoy relented slightly.

"Jim. I'm not ordering you to undergo a psych exam. And I'm not reporting this... incident. In my expert medical opinion, you're not crazy, or suicidal. But surely you realize that I can't let you on duty like this."

"I suppose you're right," Kirk said, somewhat shaken. "I could use a... break."

"Good boy," McCoy nodded. "Now get back to your quarters and get some rest."

Kirk grinned weakly.

"Aye, aye, sir, Doctor McCoy, sir."

McCoy sighed. "If only you meant it. By the way, when I said you're not crazy?"

"Yes?"

"I was speaking as your doctor. Because personally I think you're completely nuts."

"Why, thanks, Bones."

"I'm not kidding. And if you ever do anything like that again, I'll see to it you're busted all the way down back to ensign."

Kirk paused in the doorway.

"Aren't you getting too much into the role, Bones?"

"No, Jim," McCoy looked at him seriously. "You didn't see what it looked like. You have no idea how... creepy it was. We saw him crossing the point of no return; we thought we'd lost him. And you brought him back with nothing but a single touch."

Kirk looked away, suddenly uncomfortable.

"I got lucky that Spock respects discipline."

McCoy snorted, looking over the completely disheveled room.

"I can see that. His respect sure knows no bounds. Now, that's a fascinating topic, Captain, but one for a later time. Go rest, I'll check on you later. And if I don't find you in bed..."

Kirk raised a hand.

"No need to threaten, Doctor. I'll be good."

He eased out of the room quickly, but not before he heard McCoy's disbelieving, "When pigs fly!"

Kirk grinned, shaking his head slightly. It felt good to have some normalcy back.


	9. Nine

**Nine**

It wasn't often that Spock wondered about other people's motivations, particularly not when they had to deal with emotional incentives. However, lying flat on his back in an oddly angled part of a Jeffries tube working on a piece of circuitry, he couldn't help but speculate about whether or not this kind of activity was what endeared Montgomery Scott to engineering.

The work was creative by means of invoking a lot of cognitive problem solving. It was also concrete, in a very tangible sort of way. It was logical in its gradual progression of one thing leading to another. It was undeniably satisfying emotionally as the result of the work was right there, beneath his fingers, and in all other parts of cross-connecting circuitry he had repaired so far today.

Spock reached for the toolkit on his belt and pulled out another instrument to make a more fine-tuned adjustment. His thoughts streamed in a slow-paced, uninterrupted flow, which was almost meditative.

He had never considered it, but now that he was faced with it, he realized he missed this kind of work. Not engineering specifically, but rather this sense of close-to-the-ground activity. When he had been a junior officer, he had spent most of his time working in the field, having first-hand contact with whatever subject was the current focus of the research. It involved a lot of preparatory work, a lot of tasks which were more in the area of physical toil, only crowned with short periods of theoretical postulating.

Captain Daniels used to call his junior science staff little demon workers, which was consistent with his ironical view of himself as a 23rd century alchemist. Unsurprisingly, the nickname stuck to Spock more than to any of his colleagues on the _Artemis_, but there was a great deal of affection behind it. Unlike Leonard McCoy, when Captain Daniels called his resident Vulcan a hobgoblin, he implied his almost supernatural predilection to working non-stop first, and his appearance only a distant second. On the other hand, appearance probably did matter some, because Thrella, their Andorian Chief Science Officer, was fondly called a genie by the Captain. (And a horned genie behind her back by the rest of the crew, Spock naturally excluded.)

Spock always enjoyed fieldwork, but as his experience grew, he was promoted and pushed gradually higher in both the ranks of the service and scientific duties. He became senior researcher, then eventually Science department head. He fought to maintain contact with the basis, but as any accomplished scientist, he was one day forced to realize that his time as a demon worker had come to an inevitable end. On that day, he seriously considered leaving the service. But it was the time of a short lull during a vicious war, and his longing for purely scientific endeavors stood no chance faced with his formidable sense of duty.

Later, as he became third in command, and then ultimately First Officer, the administrative duties that came with the title had eaten up even more of the time he devoted to his research projects. He still managed to publish several major papers every once a quarter, but it was so drastically not enough to satisfy his yearning for more that at times he felt something suspiciously close to jealousy of his colleagues at the VSA.

That, and not his supposed inability to lead a human crew, was the main reason for his profound aversion to any Command position. He could still remember the wistful look on Captain Daniels' face, as his commanding officer told him, 'Science is now but a hobby for me, Spock. An indulgence I can rarely afford.' Spock vowed silently to himself then that it would never come to this point for him. Life, however, had other plans. He was aware that he had come perilously close to that line. Another promotion—and his career as a scientist would be over.

In rare moments of deep personal honesty, he asked himself if his subconscious mind was working overtime, trying to make him show his unsuitability for Command in every way imaginable. He stuck with his poor understanding of the human nature, even when he understood it perfectly. He stuck with being a model Vulcan rather than a real one. He tried to stick desperately with anything that might potentially work...

It never happened. Or perhaps he was just as unfortunate with his commanding officers as he was fortunate. Captain Pike saw through his subterfuge as if Spock had given him a detailed report explaining it. Not that he would have been able to, as he didn't have the slightest idea of his true motivations at the time. But then, starship captains were supposed to be perceptive, and Chris Pike was as shrewd as they got. He cut Spock little slack for self-indulgence. And he had given Spock a lot of vital lessons of what it meant to be a leader.

Spock surveyed the completed piece of circuitry, checking it for the last time before closing the panel. In a sense, he supposed he envied Scott. Engineering was a very specific occupation. No matter how high one got, one could never lose sight of one's roots. Sliding out of the tube to relocate to the next one that required his attention, Spock concluded that he felt grateful to Scott for allowing him to become a demon worker once again, even for a short while. It felt... soothing.

And it still felt soothing up until Spock climbed out of the tube completely to be faced with a very irate looking Leonard McCoy.

Spock started. He caught himself quickly and schooled his features back to neutral, but he did start and he knew that McCoy had noticed that.

"Let's take a walk," the CMO said crisply and turned to go, without waiting for a sign of Spock's compliance.

Spock glanced at the next tube longingly, contemplating the possibility of disappearing into it before McCoy could catch him. But he knew it would be fruitless in the end and therefore illogical. He checked the impulse and followed the human resignedly.

To his quiet surprise, McCoy showed no inclination to leave the deck. Spock expected them to head back to Sick Bay, but instead the Doctor took a well-familiar path towards the ship's arboretum. The doors were stuck in the half-opened position, as gaining entrance to a recreational facility was clearly not on the top of the repair crews' roster. McCoy didn't try to force the doors, instead stepping aside and glancing at Spock expectantly.

"Do you mind?"

Spock moved past him and, with an effort, pressed the doors open.

"After you," McCoy said from behind.

Spock walked inside, glancing around curiously. He rarely visited this part of the ship. The arboretum consisted of several adjacent rooms, some of them larger and some smaller, each with its specific purpose. This one at the starboard side entrance was purely recreational. The majority of the plants growing here were flowers in different stages of bloom. Instinctively, Spock came towards the big jasmine bush, which was a particular favorite of his. He bent over slightly and inhaled the delicate scent, almost smiling in pleasure. Then he remembered he was being observed and straightened up with almost painful abruptness, turning to face McCoy.

The Doctor stood opposite him with his arms folded across his chest. He was watching Spock fixedly and made no effort to hide it. Spock sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"There is no need for such determined scrutiny, Doctor. I do not pose any danger to these plants."

McCoy looked thoroughly unimpressed and if anything, more irate.

"Cut the crap, Spock. I'm waiting for an explanation."

Spock lifted an eyebrow.

"To what specifically are you referring?"

"You know perfectly well to what I'm referring," McCoy snapped. "You left Sick Bay without permission."

Spock looked down at his feet and immediately chided himself for it. This lack of outward control was most distressing.

"That is not entirely true, Doctor. Doctor M'Benga has cleared me."

"Doctor M'Benga is not your personal physician." McCoy's voice picked up a notch. "_I_ am. And you don't leave Sick Bay until _I_ say you can. I don't care how many degrees in that Vulcan mumbo-jumbo he's got, you're _my_ ward, Spock, until the Surgeon's General office says otherwise. You are to wait until _I _say you can go, not M'Benga, not God help me Nurse Chapel, or anyone else you can intimidate into releasing you."

Spock sighed, biting his lip. He had foreseen this reaction, which was exactly why he seized the chance to leave Sick Bay when McCoy wasn't there.

"But I am fit for duty," he said, trying hard not to sound as if he was pouting. "Surely, Doctor M'Benga explained that I am fully functional."

McCoy lifted his eyebrows.

"Fully functional? I don't think so. Physically you're healthy, no denying that. As for your mental state—"

"There has been no brain damage," Spock retorted, a bit sharply. "I'm in control of my actions and faculties."

"But you're not in control of your emotions," McCoy said.

Spock closed his eyes briefly in exasperation.

"Doctor, I am no less in control of my emotions than any other member of this crew."

"Which for them is healthy. But not for you."

Spock looked at him impatiently.

"What would you have me do? I will regain my control as soon as possible. In the meantime, I will not be attacking people at random, if that is what you fear. I will not be throwing tantrums. My intelligence and skills remain intact, and I prefer to put them to work. We are in a critical situation, McCoy. Do you expect me to sit idly by and watch the events unfold, knowing I can be of help?"

"You will regain your control," McCoy said, paying no heed to the rest of Spock's tirade. "How?"

Spock frowned and looked away.

"Gradually. Through meditation and contemplation."

"Interesting. How much meditation do you think you're gonna need for that?"

Spock glanced at him, irritated.

"Quite a lot, one would assume. What are you implying?"

McCoy didn't answer at once, instead watching him pensively.

"Spock," he said distinctly. "You've been tortured."

Spock's lips twitched.

"I am well aware of that fact. I was there."

"You are evading the issue."

"What issue is there to evade?" Spock's temper flared. "I have been tortured before, Doctor. This is not the first time since I joined the service and it will probably not be the last."

"No, but it is special. They had never used your telepathy against you before."

Spock sighed in exasperation.

"I fail to see how this is relevant. The methodology—"

"I'm not talking about the methodology here, Spock. You have never been subjected to an attack so precisely designed for you. Nor one that would have succeeded. It's one hell of a lot to deal with, and from what I'm seeing, you're not dealing with it at all."

"I am dealing with it. In my own way."

"By pretending it never happened? Spock, you're acting like a rape victim who tries to convince himself that it was no big deal."

Spock grimaced lightly.

"I'd rather you wouldn't use this terminology."

"Why? Because it hits too close to home? Spock, if what has been done to you isn't a violation, then I don't know what is."

Spock frowned and looked at him somberly.

"Doctor. I do not contest your words. However, you seem to fail to remember that I am not, I believe the colloquial term is, a shrinking violet. I'm a Starfleet officer, trained to deal with situations such as this. I have done so before. I will do so now, given due time and privacy."

"And what if you can't?" McCoy asked quietly. "You're right, you've had to deal with torture before, but you always had your Vulcan training working for you. You were still yourself."

"Are you saying that I have ceased being myself now?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"And what is, if I may ask you, Doctor, your purpose for bringing this up? Do you believe I am not aware of my current deficiency? Do you suppose perhaps that I need to be reminded of it? I assure you this is not the case."

"Blast it, Spock! I'm trying to help you!"

"How? By discouraging my efforts to retain some dignity? By accusing me of not wishing to act like a victim?"

"You're shouting at me."

Spock froze as if slapped. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back, bowing his head.

"I apologize."

"This is what I mean, Spock," McCoy persisted determinedly. "You're not controlling your emotions, and bolting them up inside you won't help."

"What do you suggest I should do?"

"What do the rest of us mortal humans do? We talk."

"Talk?" Spock turned to him, the expression of pure horror on his face. "You want me to _talk_ about it?"

"Look, Spock, there's no need to be so apprehensive. For some reason, you tough guys seem to believe that counseling sessions are detrimental to your self-image. To be honest, I couldn't care less about your male pride right now. You need to talk this out—"

"Male pride?" Spock asked, staring at McCoy as if he were speaking a foreign language. The very thought that he would have to bare his soul was filling him with terror to an almost physical degree. If there was any other concept more instinctively alien to any Vulcan, Spock couldn't think of one. To submit to any such procedure now, when his barriers were less than one day old, seemed suicidal. "Doctor," Spock searched for words carefully, panic obscuring his concentration. "Surely, you are aware that no Vulcan serving in Starfleet is obligated to attend counseling if he or she does not wish to?"

"Yes, Spock, I know that," McCoy said, almost gently. "But you're only half-Vulcan, and right now I think even less than half. You need it."

_I will not survive it_, Spock thought desperately. He took a step towards the human and, having no logical arguments left, pleaded with him.

"Doctor, if you ever considered me a friend, if you ever even allowed the possibility, I beg you... do not compel me to do this. I will follow any ground rule you lay out to the letter. But this... I cannot, simply I... Please."

He bowed his head and turned away abruptly, deeply ashamed of his own emotionalism. Which led to the fact that he had completely missed McCoy's expression, as he gaped at the Vulcan, stunned. How Spock managed to get a grip on himself, he didn't know, but when he looked at McCoy again, he was able to speak in a more leveled, even if still somewhat broken tone.

"I apologize," he said again. "I overstepped my bounds. It is of course your prerogative as Chief Medical Officer to prescribe whatever treatment you see fit. But I will not, I _cannot_ submit to that."

McCoy was finally able to close his mouth. He watched Spock's face carefully. If it hadn't been so serious, it would have been funny. Spock adopted the same poise of proud stoicism in the face of ultimate defeat as Marie Antoinette on the morning of her execution.

"Spock," McCoy sighed. "Give me your hand."

Warily, Spock complied. McCoy clasped his hand tentatively, but seeing no other reaction than a light wince, nodded and turned it over to get access to the monitoring device on the bracelet. He dialed a short sequence of commands and let go.

"You are officially discharged from Sick Bay now," he said.

Spock closed his eyes briefly in relief.

"Thank you, Doctor."

McCoy looked at him strictly.

"That doesn't mean you're getting a clean bill of health."

"I understand."

"And I do have ground rules for you. You're in a funny position now, Spock," he said, shaking his head at the irony. "You weren't here when we closed the doors. So even if you weren't an escaped convict, you'd still have no legal status aboard this ship now."

"I am aware of that," Spock said.

"Which means," McCoy smirked, "that at the moment every single person on board ranks you, from the Captain to the assistant dish washer in the galley."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"I do not believe there is any such position on the _Enterprise_," he said. "However, metaphorically speaking, you are correct. But I am familiar with the regulations, Doctor. What is your point?"

"Oh, I simply didn't want you to forget that," McCoy said. "If you suddenly start giving contradictory orders, people might get confused."

Spock clasped his hands behind his back, drawing comfort from the familiar posture. The encounter was exceedingly draining on him.

"I assure you, I have no intentions of giving orders of any kind," he said. "I am well aware of my current position. Was there anything else you wished to tell me?"

"Yes," McCoy straightened up, suddenly dead serious. "Stay away from Jim."

Spock raised both eyebrows in surprise.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Jim," McCoy repeated, with an air of evaporating patience. "You know, James Kirk, tough guy, wears gold, commands this vessel?"

"I believe I have a vague inkling of whom you may be referring to, Doctor," Spock intoned acidly. "If you would please get to the point?"

"I've already made my point. Stay away from him."

Spock studied him, with a mixture of curiosity and incomprehension.

"You are apparently operating under a misconception that I have some intention of crowding the Captain?" he asked. "I can assure you, I harbor no such intentions."

McCoy wasn't buying it.

"Listen, Spock. M'Benga mentioned your memory loss, but I wonder. How much do you remember about getting on the _Enterprise_?"

"As Doctor M'Benga has undoubtedly informed you, I do not remember anything," Spock said. "I lost consciousness on the Legourian vessel, and I woke up here, extracting myself from the Healing Trance. I have no recollection of being conscious in-between."

"Well then, you missed one pretty cool spectacle."

"Doctor M'Benga informed me of what had transpired."

"And you don't have anything to say about that?"

Spock sighed.

"I do not _recall_ those events, Doctor. How do you expect me to offer an opinion?"

"I don't, actually. But I'll tell you one thing. Whatever happened between you two that you can't recall affected the Captain pretty hard. Frankly, it scared the hell out of me and I don't want to risk a relapse. Not until we have the time to get to the bottom of this."

"Something to look forward to," Spock muttered.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. You want me to stay away from the Captain."

"Yes, I do. I ran it by Jim, and he agrees that it's a good idea. Until this crisis is over, he can't afford more... distractions."

Spock was silent for a few moments, his expression once again unreadable.

"I understand," he said finally, very softly. "I shall endeavor to comply with this restriction."

"Good. Now then, if you promise to inform me the moment you sense any trouble?" he looked at Spock expectantly, and the Vulcan nodded. "Then I'll leave you to your work."

Spock nodded again silently, still strangely contemplative. McCoy shook his head, but decided to leave it at that. In the doorway, he paused.

"Spock."

The Vulcan glanced up at him.

"It's good to have you home."

He waited for a moment, but Spock didn't say anything. McCoy shrugged and walked out of the room.

* * *

"How are we doing, Scotty?"

Kirk's voice came out of nowhere, making Scott jump and bump his head painfully into the closet shelf he was currently inspecting.

"Sorry," the Captain said, grinning apologetically.

"Aye," Scott nodded, extricating himself from the closet. "Not bad, sir," he said in answer to Kirk's question. "All things considered. We still have only minimal life support in most of the port section, but ye told me to prioritize."

"I did," Kirk nodded. "So how're the engines?"

Scott frowned, as he glanced over to the main intermix chamber. The expression in his eyes was that of a mother whose child had taken seriously ill.

"Salvageable," he drawled.

"Oh, come now, Mr. Scott," Kirk clapped him on the shoulder. "We're still alive, aren't we? It can't be that bad."

"Aye, sir, that we are," Scott said, none too happy. "Gabler there has one last test to run, and then we can engage full impulse power."

"Scotty..." Kirk looked at him as if he was barely refraining from kissing his Chief Engineer.

Possibly recognizing the danger on some subconscious level, Scott swiftly stepped aside. He shrugged, rather grimly.

"We'll restore full life support in three to five hours," he said.

"Shields and weapons?"

"Operational," Scott said, with a strange reluctance to his tone. "But, Captain, ye have to understand. We didn't only lose the warp drive. We lost the warp reactor. The impulse reactor simply doesn't have this kind of power."

"You need both nacelles to run the warp reactor," Kirk nodded.

"Aye, sir. Otherwise there isn't enough counterbalance to stabilize the warp field."

"Which we still use for purposes other than propulsion."

"Aye. I might have an idea of how to reconfigure the dispenser field, but it'll take some time."

"Scotty," Kirk looked hesitant. "That sounds kind of... dangerous. If I remember my engineering classes correctly, you can't run a warp reactor with so much as a bolt out of place, never mind a nacelle."

Scott looked at him, with a fine measure of irony. Just enough to constitute friendly teasing, but not nearly close to spelling disrespect.

"Well, sir, I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be in any engineering class I attended, either. But—"

"But you think it can work?" Kirk asked with a mild smile.

"I think it's worth a try," Scott said honestly. "I have a theory. I can't guarantee it'll work."

"I want a full briefing on this before you take any action."

"Understood, sir."

"Good. Now, there's something I want you to take a look at. Come with me."

Somewhat intrigued, Scott followed Kirk out of Main Engineering. They took the turbolift to the last section on the port side that did have life support and then crossed into the intersection that was outside the safe zone. Donning oxygen masks, they walked outside the marked perimeter. Only the emergency forcefields were holding this piece of the outer hull together, but the artificial gravity was in place.

"I know you're not a metal specialist, Scotty," Kirk's voice sounded muffled and slightly distorted. "But take a look at this," he pointed at the cramped edges of the hull. "What do you make of that level of corrosion?"

Scott examined the ridges closely.

"It looks like a hit from a Klingon disruptor," he said, fighting through the waves of interference. "Only I've never seen a single disruptor blast cause that much damage. Those panels are practically melted. Now, I suppose a prolonged exposure coulda done that, only—"

"Only we haven't been exposed for that long," Kirk nodded, brushing his hair with his fingers, making it stand on end. "Let's get out of here."

With a final look at the hole, Scott followed him back to safety. Kirk took off the mask, inhaling deeply.

"So what do you think?" he asked, taking a deeper breath and watching his Engineer closely. "Could a single discharge have done that?"

Scott took a moment to consider this. He took his mask off slowly, placing it meticulously back into the hold and clasping the locks with defined precision.

"It does depend on the discharge, doesn't it?" he muttered. "I'll have to run a spectral analysis to exclude metal fatigue, but I can tell ye now that from the looks of it, it's highly unlikely. But Captain, if it was a single discharge, it was of a degree that even Klingon disruptors don't have."

Kirk nodded grimly. "Conventional disruptors, not to mention phasers, couldn't have penetrated our hull that easily, not even with our shields down."

"Aye, they couldn't," Scott appeared pensive. "But ye know what's weird, Captain? It doesn't fit what we know of the Legourians. Technologically, they're a pretty primitive people, if ye know what I mean, sir. That ship of theirs, it belongs in a museum. Apart from their ability to obscure our sensors, there wasn't a wee piece of sophisticated anything aboard."

"That's what's bugging me," Kirk confessed. "They shouldn't have been able to cause us this kind of damage."

"Aye. I'm betting they had help."

"Question is from whom." Kirk pursed his lips resolutely. "Take every weapons specialist we've got and get me a full analysis. I could spare Chekov if you need him. And Scotty." The Captain looked at him levelly. "It's on your priority list."

"Aye, sir," Scott nodded. As Kirk moved past him, he called, "Captain, speaking of priorities, there was something I..."

Kirk turned back towards him and sized him up with a glance. "Yes, Mr. Scott?"

Scott looked hesitant and strangely uncomfortable, his focus shifting between his feet, his hands and the Captain.

"Well, sir... Do I really have to check Mr. Spock's work?" he blurted out finally. "Only it's eating time, and there's no point in it anyway—it's all good and sound. It's not like I don't trust him to handle..." he trailed off awkwardly.

Kirk regarded him evenly.

"It's not a question of his qualification," he said calmly. "He's been a captive of hostile forces and subject to severe mental pressure. We can't exclude the possibility of a hostile influence at this point. He's allowed back on duty only on condition of constant supervision. Regulations, Mr. Scott."

"Aye," Scott sighed. "But..."

Kirk frowned. "Did Spock give you any grief about it?"

"No, sir," Scott shook his head vehemently, as if startled at the idea. "He said the same thing ye said. But it's still damn inconvenient."

Kirk's lips stretched into a thin smile. "I can only imagine Mr. Spock agrees with you."

For a moment, he appeared on the verge of asking something. Scott waited patiently, but the question never came. The Captain visibly collected himself and smiled tightly.

"We both have a lot of work to do, Mr. Scott. Let's not waste any more time."

He turned around and walked away in a slightly more rapid pace than one inviting company. Watching him go, Scott could only shake his head. Kirk was obviously overcompensating, but in Scott's view, that was no reason not to act like a human being. But then again, the Captain was still rather young, a fact that Scott often forgot in view of Kirk's ever present and rather forceful personality. Young people often saw acting like a human being as a sign of ultimate weakness. Particularly when they wore captain's stripes.

Still shaking his head and grunting under his breath, Scott set off to deal with yet another assignment. His day had begun two days ago and there still seemed to be no end in sight. There were too many things to be restored, repaired, reorganized. Too many things and only one of Scott. For an absurd moment, as his mind sought a break from reviewing his endless to-do list, Scott entertained the idea of cloning himself. The mental image of three Scotts strolling casually into Engineering made him chuckle and then almost immediately frown. In a moment, the incongruous notion was expelled firmly out of his mind.

"Captain, hold up a second!"

McCoy's voice practically snatched Kirk out of another dive down the ladder between two decks, which at the moment was still the shortest way to get to certain parts of the ship, too damaged to safely send turbolift cabins there. Kirk looked up with a frown, more tired than irritated, but relinquished his hold of the rail and stepped over to wait for his CMO. Without a word, McCoy proceeded to scan him. That got to Kirk fast.

"Bones, I'm a busy man," he snapped.

"Easy, Captain," McCoy said, a bit absently, concentrating on his readings. "The deal was you check with me every six hours."

"I feel fine," Kirk said, folding his arms across his chest. "And the deal was you update me on Spock's condition since I can't see him. But strangely, Doctor, I have to find out that he's up and about from anyone but you."

McCoy snapped his scanner closed and looked at him grimly.

"Well, he didn't tell me he was checking out, either."

"Bones, that happened more than a day ago. In all that time you couldn't spare a moment to tell me that he's fine?"

"He's not fine," McCoy said flatly.

Kirk stared at him, momentarily startled. "But I thought you said... I mean, you cleared him for duty."

"Physically he's healthy."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"That he's just undergone severe psychological trauma, Captain, and he won't let me help him."

Catching a curious glance from a passing crewmember, Kirk steered McCoy into an empty briefing room.

"You want to explain that?"

McCoy sighed. "M'Benga said Spock's putting his shielding on priority. Meaning that his own internal equanimity will have to wait."

"That's understandable," Kirk shrugged. "First defend, then restore. Pretty much the way we act with a ship in a combat situation."

"Maybe. Maybe it's even logical. For now, though, we are left with one highly emotional Vulcan. He yelled at me, can you believe it?"

Kirk was watching him very carefully. His eyes were glinting softly, but the expression was expectant, calculating, rather than sympathetic.

"Even without his barriers, Spock's pretty reserved," he said quietly. "What did you say to him to make him yell at you?"

McCoy shrugged. "It wasn't my fault, Jim. I was only trying to help. You know he's been tortured. I offered him counseling, but he almost went into a panic attack when I said it. I've never seen him react quite so squally before. I even thought..." he fell silent, noticing that Kirk was staring at him aghast. "Jim? What's the matter?"

"You offered him _counseling_?" the Captain managed heavily. "After he just had his mind split open, you suggested—_more of that_? Another stranger messing around in his head? Another intruder?" Kirk swallowed hard, closing his mouth at last, but his eyes were still gaping. "Bones," he shook his head in utter disbelief. "Sometimes I wonder if you've even heard of the Hippocratic Oath, never mind taken one..."

"Oh sweet heaven, what is wrong with you?" McCoy exclaimed, annoyed beyond himself. "With either of you? You act as if I suggested torturing him again!"

"You did! Dammit, McCoy, he's a Vulcan! You can't treat him like an old lady who was mugged on her way to church!"

"I'm not!" McCoy exploded. "By God, Jim, I'm used to Spock making me sound like an imbecile witch-doctor, but I thought I could expect at least some measure of professional respect from you! I'm not suggesting medical treatment out of the blue, God dammit! I've been in Starfleet for more than twenty years, I've seen more torture victims than you'd care to count!"

"But you've never _been_ one, Bones!" Kirk said with heartfelt emphasis. "You've never been one, and I thank God for that every day of my life! You don't know what it's like! You don't know how it feels! You don't know what he's going through! Talking about it is the last thing he needs! Oh, dammit!" He smashed his fist into the wall in frustration. "I don't have time for this. I'm late for a security update, and I... I just don't have the time to talk about it any more right now."

With that, he turned around abruptly and strode out of the room, leaving a deeply distressed and angered McCoy alone.


	10. Ten

**Ten**

Hours trickled into days, as the _Enterprise_ crawled slowly on impulse to the rendezvous coordinates, hoping to be there first. Hope probably wasn't the best word to describe the dominating mood. People were jumpy with fatigue and nervousness. Heightened security and constant monitoring did little to lighten the grim atmosphere.

Spock couldn't remember a time when he would have felt more out of place on board the _Enterprise_. It wasn't that he specifically required company, quite the opposite, in fact. But he had found his concentration failing, even more than he had expected. No one was actively hostile towards him, or worse, openly aggressive. They kind of just avoided him, but in a manner that made him uneasy. He found it difficult to retain some equanimity under the apprehensive stares and not quite whispers, but not quite silence either.

He knew they were frightened and on edge because of everything that was happening. And he wasn't with them. He left them in a critical moment and now felt like a stranger in their midst. A stranger who was feared. Telepathy was something that terrified most humans for some reason. His telepathy had never been an issue with them before, most people managed to forget Vulcans were telepaths altogether. But everyone knew what had happened to him, and speculations wandered along the decks.

He didn't bother to listen too carefully, but from what he heard, they didn't put it past him to be reading the thoughts of everyone aboard because in his current state he had no inhibitions. Spock couldn't begin to fathom anything as illogical as that, but to his utter dismay, he discovered he could not simply ignore it. It had been years since he was the focus of so much unpleasant attention without any kind of defense. Meditation that he so desperately craved was elusive. He stuck with holding himself together as best he could, without employing any special techniques, but simply gritting his teeth and leaning on his will. It hadn't given out so far, but the strain was draining.

It was past 1800 when he walked into the Officers' Mess. He noted the general level of noise subside slightly as he made his way to the replicator. He wasn't quite sure what it was he dialed up. He wasn't hungry, so he didn't really care. He only came here because he genuinely wished to avoid yet another strenuous conversation with McCoy. He sat down alone at a table meant for six and started putting the food into his mouth mechanically, without really noticing what he was eating.

"Mind if I join you?"

Spock flinched so badly, he nearly choked. There was a sigh above him, and then Luca slid into a chair next to him, looking at him sympathetically. He didn't apologize though, knowing Spock wouldn't appreciate him drawing attention to his slip. Spock nodded belatedly, watching the human set down his own tray.

He was apprehensive of the encounter. If his dealing with McCoy of late were any indication, he was exceptionally susceptible to emotional provocations, intended or not intended alike. He had always considered McCoy to be a challenging opponent, but he wasn't prepared for the swiftness with which the human managed to draw an emotional response out of him now. It happened every time they met, and no matter how often Spock reminded himself that the good Doctor was acting out of concern, he couldn't help but wish that he wouldn't be quite so persistent.

It took a great deal of the strictest concentration in meditation to just balance the events of each day a little. McCoy had a most profound skill of shattering that fragile arrangement in moments, and Spock shuddered to think what it would take him to retain some sanity if the other humans would join him in his quest.

Luca glanced at him curtly, as if making a quick assessment, then put his fork to work with deliberate regularity.

"You know," he said slowly. "I used to think that you _Constitution_-class boys needed a map not to get lost around here. But now I believe I'm starting to see the charm of it."

Spock stared at him blankly, taken off guard enough to switch his attention instantly.

"You are starting to see the charm of the _Enterprise_?" he repeated, with a note of amused incredulity.

"Sure. She appears to be a sturdy old lady."

Spock nearly choked for the second time in a few minutes. Luca grinned at him innocently.

"I hope you have not deemed it necessary to share your observation with Mr. Scott."

"Oh, I think I might have mentioned something about it to him, yeah. Why? And why are you staring at me like that?"

Spock shrugged mildly, resuming his meal. This was all too familiar.

"I merely wished to ascertain if you sustained any injuries and require immediate medical attention. Last time someone flattered the _Enterprise_ in a similar fashion in Scott's presence, the consequences were... unfortunate."

"I think I heard something about it," Luca grinned. "But you know what they say, Spock? If a ship's crew isn't behaving, there's one man responsible for it, and that's the first officer. Have you been sleeping on the job?"

"I do not believe that is accurate. Mr. Scott, however, is a... hard individual to control."

"I'll bet he is," Luca chuckled. "Especially for you. Tell me, is he still mad at you for that replicator prank?"

Spock put down his fork and fixed him with a heavy stare.

"That was _not_ a prank. Merely a... misunderstanding."

"Sure," Luca laughed softly. "Rumor has it though that Captain Pike didn't see it that way."

Spock lowered his eyes, his cheeks coloring slightly.

"Captain Pike... overreacted."

"Overreacted." Luca regarded him, barely holding back his amusement. "Spock, he didn't put you in a corner, did he?"

"No." He knew he was blushing badly. Strangely, the knowledge didn't hurt half as bad. "He did however—"

"Mr. Spock!" A sharp voice made them both flinch. "What _are_ you eating?"

Christine Chapel was standing at their table, with her hands on her hips, and, apparently, was trying to incinerate the contents of Spock's plate with a glare. Spock followed her gaze, perplexed, he didn't see anything particularly interesting on his plate to justify such an outburst.

"This is a portion of vegetarian nutritional supplement," he said cautiously, the green cubes on his plate staring back at him in equal incomprehension.

"This isn't something you're supposed to have in your current... after your... right now!" She snatched the tray from the table and marched away with it determinedly.

"Nurse, I was not... finished."

But she was already too far out of reach. Luca was laughing uncontrollably now, patting the table reflexively with his hand. Spock glared at him.

"Oh, take mine, by all means," Luca managed between his paroxysms, pushing his plate containing multi-colored cubes towards the Vulcan. "It's no better than what you had, but..." He couldn't finish, for the expression on Spock's face was impossible to ignore.

People were staring at them, some with suspiciously amused expressions on their faces. Luca managed to recover somewhat, stifling his laughs to some degree. Spock had never before experienced the human expression 'to look like an idiot' to this extent. Before he could do anything about it, though, Nurse Chapel reappeared and headed straight for him with another tray in her hands.

"This is what you're supposed to eat," she declared, putting the tray in front of him.

Spock studied its contents curiously. There was a plate of leafy green salad, definitely containing fresh vegetables and soft cheese, for which Spock showed a preference; a bowl of what looked like Vulcan _de'yama_ soup, and a nutritional drink.

"Nurse," Spock looked up at her strictly. But he didn't really know what to say. Reprimanding her seemed... unkind. "This is..."

"This is on your medical dietary card," she said curtly, but she was scarlet red by that time. "Eat it. Doctor's orders."

She turned on her heel abruptly and left before he had a chance to say anything. Luca watched her departure thoughtfully.

"You know," he said pensively. "I can't fathom why, but this woman seems to have a thing for you."

Spock didn't answer, which immediately drew Luca's attention back to him.

"Well, well, well," he intoned softly. "I can see you haven't lost your touch."

Spock pushed a piece of tomato on his plate absently.

"I can assure you, I did nothing to warrant Ms. Chapel's affection."

"Sure you didn't," Luca chuckled. "As you did nothing to warrant—"

"Luca." Spock glanced at him sharply in warning.

"Fine, I'll shut up," Luca sighed. "Why does it always have to be so difficult with you? She seems very nice. As, by the way, did I."

"I do not necessarily disagree with this assessment," Spock said. "On her part."

Luca snorted.

"You're right. I'm not nice."

"No."

"I'm magnificent."

"And modest, apparently."

"Modesty is a virtue for those who don't have any other virtues."

"This is probably the worst example of human logic that I have heard to date."

"The day is still young, Spock."

"That is what disturbs me."

"Eat your soup already."

Spock leaned back in his chair, looking somewhat baffled.

"I am not that hungry," he confessed. "I still need to finish my assignment."

"No, ye don't."

Spock was getting really tired of wincing every time yet another human appeared at his table unannounced, so he gave it up, watching Scott settling in to his left.

"I mean it, Mr. Spock," the Scotsman picked up his fork and jabbed it in Spock's general direction. "Ye're going ahead of schedule as it is and I've run out of deputies who can check on ye. Give it a break."

Spock looked at him somberly. "As you wish. But if you don't find my work satisfactory, you can simply say so."

Scott looked up at him, surprised, then glanced over at Luca.

"Now, where did that come from?"

Luca shrugged. "He's having some kind of confidence crisis."

"That'd be a first. Usually he's inducing one on everyone else."

"Really, Scotty. He can't be that bad."

Scott looked at him, eyebrows raised. "He can't?"

"Gentlemen," Spock broke in. "I am sitting right here."

"And it doesn't do ye any good, if ye ask me." Scott nodded at Spock's still barely touched food. "That's just trouble waiting to go off, if the Doctor spots ye. Mind ye, he might have my head, too, since ye're working for me."

"You cannot order me to eat, Mr. Scott."

"I can try."

Spock sighed, but before he could retaliate, Lieutenant Kerr came over.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she said politely. "Is this seat taken?" She nodded at the head of the table, opposite from Spock.

"No, Lieutenant, please," Luca waved at her graciously. "Tough shift?"

"You could say that," she sighed, sliding down elegantly. "Our sensors are still good for nothing, and the automatic decipherer is out. You try to scan for the Legourians like that, it'd give you a neck sprain, too."

Spock shifted in his seat uncomfortably, but no one seemed to pay him any attention.

"Still no signs?" Luca asked.

"No," she shook her head. "But we can barely see ten feet in front of us."

"Maybe it's not so bad," Scott grunted. "In the shape we're in picking a fight is crazy."

"We have to," Luca said. "We can't allow the Legourians to deliver the information. It's too big a risk."

"How are ye coming on that weapon?" Scott asked.

"That's a tough call," Luca said. "So far, we've been able to rule out Klingon, Romulan, or Kzinti technology and pretty much everyone else. And the tactical analysis doesn't promise a walk in the garden."

"Aye, I've seen yer firepower estimates," Scott nodded grimly. "I've never been one to fancy recommending a weapons upgrade, but this time I just might. We could boost the beam intensity if we bypass the phaser cascade reactor and hook up the trigger relay directly to the—"

"Mr. Scott," Spock interrupted him sharply. All heads turned towards him. "Certainly you need not be reminded not to share privileged information with parties not having sufficient clearance."

The Vulcan was shaking slightly with tension. Scott blinked at him. Then he spoke, very deliberately.

"Mr. Spock, I think ye're outta yer league to judge what I can and cannot do right now. I can share whatever information I bloody well please with whomever I see convenient, clearance or no, unless I'm under orders not to. And if I have to order the said parties to listen to what I have to say and share their own goddamn logical views on the matter, the said parties would have to shut up and obey."

Spock pursed his lips, glaring at him. Scott glared right back. Luca dropped his eyes to his plate, obviously stifling a laugh. Kerr was looking from one to the other worriedly.

"Would it not be impossible," Spock said at last, "given the nature of your supposed order, to shut up and obey at the same time?"

Scott smirked. "Ye'll manage. So. Do I have to order ye to speak?"

Spock folded his arms across his chest.

"Your idea has merit," he said. "I would have to see the specs before I can approve... before I can provide you with an opinion."

"I thought ye might wanna take a look," Scott nodded, tossing a padd towards him.

Spock took it, without comment, and studied it for several moments. Then, an eyebrow crawled up and he glanced at Scott sharply.

"Ingenious. Might be worthy of a fleet-wide recommendation. Have you shown it to the Captain yet?"

"I've only just come up with it an hour ago," Scott shook his head. "And I wanted to run a few tests first."

"Reasonable," Spock said, handing the padd back.

Scott didn't miss his wistful expression.

"I could use a hand."

Spock met his gaze evenly.

"We would be dangerously close to 'tempting fate', I believe is the expression. But I... appreciate the offer."

Scott's gaze was fixed somewhere above Spock's left shoulder, and Spock turned around to see what had caught his attention. It was Lieutenant Uhura, padd in one hand and a coffee mug in the other, smiling at them and walking over to their table. She narrowed her smile down to Spock alone, as if asking permission, and slid gracefully into the chair next to him.

"Lieutenant," he greeted her, somehow resigned in advance to yet another unexpected gesture.

"Mr. Spock," she nodded, still smiling. Then, her gaze slid over to Luca, who wasn't exactly hiding his appreciation, and she raised her eyebrows in friendly irony. "Captain."

"I haven't seen you today at all, Lieutenant," Luca complained. "Are you avoiding me?"

She grinned innocently.

"Should I?"

"No," Luca said.

"Yes," Spock said at the same time.

Kerr giggled. Luca glared at the Vulcan. Spock gave him an eyebrow. Uhura looked from one to the other.

"No consensus here," she noted and met Kerr's laughing eyes. "You're going to have to work with him?" she nodded at Luca. "I'm sorry, dear."

"He gets better in a working environment," Kerr said. "There's hope he can be trained."

"Really," Uhura nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe you're right. With a proper incentive, even Mr. Spock has been known to be polite on occasion."

"Spock, I think we're being insulted here," Luca turned to his friend.

"Indeed," Spock said. "Lieutenant Uhura is renowned for coercing the innocent. Perhaps it would be wise of you to see that your crew maintains a certain distance, if you do not wish the contamination to progress."

Uhura's eyes narrowed at him with the precision of a phase cannon.

"I hope you don't consider yourself an innocent," she said.

"I do not consider myself coerced," he returned.

"Really?" she grinned dangerously. "Well, we'll just have to work on that." Her gaze fell to his salad. "Do you know how much trouble Christine went to, to gather these? She spent hours making it, and you're not even eating."

She picked a leaf from his plate and chewed it thoughtfully. Spock watched her with an odd expression.

"Which only seems to prove the point that her actions are illogical."

"Or yours—ungrateful."

"Lieutenant—"

"I cracked your symbol for you," she interrupted him, pushing her padd in the middle ground between them. The salad leaf was gone, and she rubbed her fingers absently against each other. Without a word, Spock handed her a napkin. She took it and nodded subtly, as both concentrated on the padd. "At first I thought it wasn't making any sense, unknown language or no."

"Which could well be the case," Spock admitted. "It wasn't a... regular telepathic contact. My mind could have... made it up."

"I don't think so," she shook her head seriously. "I couldn't find any correlations in the database, but then I decided to extrapolate based on the assumption that it is indeed written words. It does look like Klingon written in old Vulcan _lacu_ style."

"There does appear to be a triple-step connotation."

"That's what I thought, too. Anyway, I asked the computer to give the closest approximation to the visual symbol, based on our cultural database. It came up with the word 'obsidian'."

Spock winced lightly.

"Mr. Spock?" Uhura sounded alarmed.

"Obsidian," he repeated softly. "It appears to be consistent with the mental image I received."

She watched him worriedly for a moment, then returned her gaze to the padd.

"I asked the computer to mark one of the words here as 'obsidian' and run a reconstruction from there. This is the variant that made the most sense to me."

"'Obsidian Order'," Spock read. "And this one—"

"Cardassia."

They contemplated the word for a second, and then Spock and Luca looked at each other sharply.

"Cardassia," Luca said. "Spock, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"The probability is high," Spock confirmed. "We know next to nothing about them, however—"

"Gentlemen?" Kerr looked between the two. "Would someone care to explain?"

"The lad on the station," Scott said suddenly. "The one at the bar? Strange looking lad with a smile that makes yer gut twist? He ordered something called _Cardassian Sunrise_."

"Great," Luca muttered. "It means they're already here."

"And might have been here for a very long time," Spock said grimly, getting to his feet. He glanced at Scott pointedly. "I suggest you tell the Captain that as soon as possible."

Spock turned to go...

"Tell me what?"

... and came face to face with the one man aboard the ship he was in no uncertain terms ordered to avoid.

* * *

Kirk regarded him expectantly.

"Well, Mr. Spock?"

"Captain," Spock muttered, caught off guard. He stepped away reflexively and bumped into a chair, almost knocking it over. Physical awkwardness had never been an issue with him until now, and he blushed involuntarily to cap the effect. "I believe... it would be advisable if you asked Mr. Scott to explain the situation."

Kirk watched him with a mixture of sympathy and amusement.

"Why? Have you lost the power of speech?"

"No, sir," Spock still wasn't quite looking at him. "But it would not be prudent..."

"For God's sake, Spock," Kirk sighed. "I don't know where McCoy picks up his paranoia, but I sure as hell hope it's not contagious. I'm not going to faint just having you in the same room with me, Commander."

Spock did glance up then, finally managing to get a grip on himself. Kirk very rarely used his title, normally preferring a much more casual and affectionate 'Mr. Spock'. That he chose to do so now when Spock had so little rights in terms of legal status seemed more of a message than a coincidence. Kirk nodded to him ever so slightly.

"I think we're overdue for a talk," he said softly. "Come with me."

Without a word, Spock followed him out, as if it was the most natural thing to do. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his colleagues exchange knowing looks at this development and was surprised to realize that the emotion dominating in their expressions was relief. He wondered about it briefly, but the thoughts were fleeting. The strange tension that settled upon him was not only distracting, but also very binding. He strode behind the Captain as if moving underwater, and was vaguely surprised that Kirk, who seemed to be walking normally, didn't manage to get too far ahead of him.

They entered the Captain's quarters still in perfect silence, and Kirk gestured him to a chair lamely, before crossing to the sleeping area. Numbly, Spock watched him rummaging around in search of something and muttering incoherently under his breath. Apparently, the dimmed lights weren't helping matters, and Spock opened his mouth to suggest a brighter illumination when he remembered that they had to conserve power and living quarters weren't priority areas. He shook his head slightly at himself, wondering how he could have forgotten that.

Kirk finally reemerged from the corner he had been unsuccessfully inspecting and sat down on his bed tiredly, facing Spock. He gave the Vulcan a soft smile, but Spock could see the tension holding him in its iron claws just as tightly as it held Spock in its grip. Kirk shook his head.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered. "It's just me, Spock. You don't have to look like I'm about to..." he apparently thought better of the first comparison that came to his mind and settled for the second, "...like you're a lamb waiting be slaughtered. The rumors of my bloodlust are highly exaggerated."

Spock couldn't help his eyebrows crawling all the way up, nor his lips curving in amusement. The imagery was not only unexpected per se, but tenfold more so coming from Jim Kirk. Even more surprising directed at him. Which made the combination nothing short of astonishing.

"You appear to be... equally uneasy," Spock intoned cautiously, fighting a battle with his own irony surfacing and losing. "Perhaps you are somewhat... apprehensive of another outbreak of violence on my part."

Kirk grinned leniently.

"I'm not afraid of you, Spock. You may be vicious without the leash of your logic. But some would say that I have you tamed."

Spock gave up on controlling his expression.

"Indeed?" he purred, leaning back in his chair, tension draining out of him. "I would caution you not to heed such... hasty judgment."

Kirk's grin grew wider.

"Are you challenging me, Mr. Spock?"

"And if I am?"

"Have you ever known me to back down from a challenge?"

"No, Captain. However, I have never known you to take advantage of a defenseless adversary, either."

Kirk laughed out loud, freely and openly, the way he hadn't had in days. Still laughing, he looked at the Vulcan fondly.

"You feel so safe, don't you? You think that I would never..."

Spock lifted an eyebrow.

"Would you?"

"No, Mr. Spock," Kirk shook his head, still grinning. "I can see you know me entirely too well."

"Hardly so. However, there is evidence that you do possess some rudimentary knowledge of ethics and even apply it on occasion."

Kirk scowled in mock indignation.

"There's going to be payback for that, you know?" Spock's expression reduced him back to laughing in a moment. "I've always suspected you are completely evil inside."

"Really, Captain..."

"But I gotta give you some points though. I don't know anyone else who can turn the tables with such head-spinning audacity."

Another eyebrow.

"I do. You are lacking in finesse somewhat, but barring this, you are a most proficient individual in this area."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Spock." Teasing faded, giving way to concern. "How are you holding up?"

Spock sobered and sat up a little straighter. He considered the question carefully.

"I am... not bad, Captain," he said, submitting to emotional assessments. "However, I am afraid I will not be able to make a full recovery..." Kirk started, and Spock hastily continued, "While I am on the ship."

"You need privacy?" Kirk deduced, watching him with a mixture of sympathy and sadness.

"Very much so."

"For how long?"

Spock gave his customary one-shoulder shrug.

"I cannot be certain." He looked up at Kirk with barely masked insecurity. "I cannot even be certain I will ever be able to... repair the damage."

"Of course you will," Kirk said with unwavering conviction. "Spock, you are the most determined, industrious, and forgive me, stubborn person I know. Tell me there's another combination of qualities that spells win better than that."

"Captain." Spock didn't say anything else, but the look he gave Kirk spoke volumes.

Kirk sighed, shaking his head.

"I'm never listening to Bones again when it comes to you," he muttered darkly.

"I believe he has the best of intentions," Spock said softly.

"But he's getting it all wrong, Spock." Kirk stood up and took a couple of steps in the sparse space of the room, clasping his hands behind his back. "He's got it all backwards. I might not be on my peak, I grant him that. But if my performance is hindered, it's not because of your presence. It's just that lately nothing seems to go right as if we're stuck in some nasty loop of Murphy's law. And it's only worse when I can't even be myself for five minutes straight. You know I'm not in the habit of second-guessing my own decisions, but this time... this time I'm just not sure if I'm doing the right thing."

He didn't say it, but it was there in the air between them. James Kirk was not prone to admitting to any kind of weaknesses, not even to himself, and loneliness was definitely and undeniably a weakness in his book. He couldn't admit it, but then, he didn't have to.

"Captain?"

Unguarded, unabashed concern was splashing in Spock's eyes, and Kirk winced as he met them.

"Dear God, Spock. Don't look at me like that, or you'll discover exactly how... rudimentary my ethics are."

Spock dropped his gaze to the floor instantly.

"I'm sorry."

Kirk cursed under his breath and made an effort to look away, concentrating on staying where he was.

"What was it about earlier, with Scotty and the others?" he asked, changing the topic and absently switching the thermostat to a higher temperature. "Something you said Scotty should tell me?"

"Yes," Spock nodded. "The identity of our shadow player."

Briefly, he filled Kirk in on their deductions. The Captain frowned and walked over to his desk. He looked through his files briefly and pulled one out.

"A memo from Intelligence crossed my desk couple of months ago," Kirk said, inserting the data chip into his viewer and glancing over it quickly. "Some kind of incident on the Klingon border, and I think they claimed there was a Cardassian ship involved. See what you can make of that."

He turned the monitor towards Spock. Spock refused to look at it, studying Kirk instead.

"Captain, you must certainly know better than to show me a classified report now."

Kirk gave him a wry grin.

"Who's going to report me, Spock? It's just you and me here."

"You, me and the recorder on your wrist."

Kirk's face closed as he stared at his bracelet.

"I hate those things," he muttered. "Why don't I just take it off and—"

Spock was out of his chair faster than light, jerking Kirk's right hand away from his left.

"No, Jim!"

It was a very risky action, declaring the closed doors condition, but that in itself wasn't damning if warranted. However, taking off the security monitor at any time qualified as an act of treason, without any kind of condescension due to whatever circumstances, and if Kirk succeeded in his intention even for half a minute, there would be no going back. As it was, the records would only be examined after numerous hearings, designed to define whether Kirk's actions were justified. In case of a favorable resolution, they would not be examined at all. Taking the bracelet off seemed suicidal, and the crushing force of this danger, created in the blink of an eye out of nowhere, had shaken both of them to the core.

They stood frozen for a moment, with a desk between them, and their eyes on that small point of space where Spock's hand held Kirk's wrist.

"You must be feeling unwell," Spock said breathlessly, his voice low and uneven. "Jim, you could have been executed for this." His voice fell to a whisper. "I'm not worth it."

He let go with an effort. Kirk rubbed softly at his skin where the imprints of Spock's fingers were certain to become bruises. He chuckled, just as shakily.

"Wanna bet?"

Spock closed his eyes. "Jim..."

"Dammit, Spock! I need you on the Bridge, not crawling down some blasted Jeffries tubes!" Kirk snapped in frustration. "I need your expertise, I need your advice, I need you there, dammit!"

"I regret I cannot be there, Captain."

"Yes, well, maybe you ought to have better taste in friends next time! Choose someone who won't put you on the verge of going mental, not to mention through twelve rounds of court-martial!"

Spock looked at him.

"You are upset with me."

"That's a word and a half."

"Why? What have I done to cause you this much distress? And why didn't you tell McCoy about your shoulder?"

Kirk looked up at him sharply.

"How do you know about my shoulder?"

Spock pursed his lips.

"I am not blind, Captain."

Kirk shook his head in defeat and reached to rub at his shoulder awkwardly.

"Bones left a hypo with muscle relaxant somewhere around here," he told his boots. "I couldn't find it. It's nothing really. Just a tension spasm."

Without thinking, Spock offered, "I can help."

Kirk's head snapped up so sharply, it must have hurt.

"No!" He stilled himself and exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry, Spock, but I don't think I can do this right now."

Spock stepped away, creating some much needed distance.

"You haven't answered my question," he reminded Kirk softly.

Kirk shook his head.

"I don't think the answer will do either of us any good," he said. "Maybe Bones was right. Maybe you and I at close quarters wasn't such a brilliant idea, after all."

Spock's lips twitched. "I doubt that was the complication the good Doctor was trying to avoid," he said, with stinging irony. "Otherwise he would have ordered me off the ship. Probably sans escape pod."

Kirk snorted. "One of these days, Spock, your sense of humor is going to earn you just that." He massaged his neck absently. "Your evaluation of the situation? And before you raise more objections, I'm perfectly entitled to hear anything any crewmember has to say, even if he's speaking about something he shouldn't be aware of."

"Indeed," Spock nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. "I see two possibilities here, Captain. First, treason. Someone in Starfleet Intelligence or Starfleet Security is a defector."

"Or someone who has access to both."

"Correct. I find this option considerably less probable, however."

"Too big a scale?"

"Indeed. I find therefore your supposition of a Big Game more plausible."

"Parties and objectives?"

"Security is obviously trying to prevent the delivery of the information. I find it curious, however, that they are trying to do so covertly. It stands to reason that they are attempting to 'flush out' the unknown perpetrator."

"Intelligence?"

"I am less certain. Either there is a defector in the higher echelons, or they do not know for whom the Legourians are working and aim to flush out their employer. If they did not find it necessary to inform Starfleet Security of this scheme..."

"You know," Kirk interrupted him softly. "It sounds so absurdly stupid of them that it has to be true."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "And you are complaining about _my_ sense of humor."

Kirk grinned wryly. "Sad as it is, Mr. Spock, I'm not joking. You may very well be right on that assumption. It does make sense."

Spock inclined his head. "I regret I cannot be of more use to you."

"Hey," Kirk stepped closer and clasped his shoulder. "You've been of use plenty where no one else would have been. Thanks to you, we know more now than Security and Intelligence put together. Cut yourself some slack. And get some rest, will you?"

"Yes, Captain. And you."

A moment passed.

"Jim."

"Hm?"

"You have not dismissed me."

"Oh. Sorry, Spock."

A beat.

"Jim."

"Right. You're dismissed, Mr. Spock. If you must insist."

"Thank you, Captain. Good-night."

"Night."

The door hissed open and closed, and as Spock walked down the corridor, he was unable to make up his mind regarding whether McCoy's warning was justified or not. Shrugging off his doubt, he decided to heed Kirk's advice instead and get some much needed rest. He had a bad feeling which had nothing to do with logic that he was going to need it.


	11. Eleven

**Eleven**

Leonard McCoy and telepathy weren't good friends.

There was something about this function that made him feel naked in the middle of a crowded room, whenever he was in the presence of someone in possession of it. Sudden nakedness made most people vulnerable. McCoy felt stupid and embarrassed. In his book, it was all right to be on display if one had a lot to offer. If one didn't, however...

He sighed and shook his head softly. Healer, heal thyself. He accused Spock of being reluctant to derange his personal self-image, but he was just as reluctant himself. He was painfully aware of just how many quirks and traits he wore around himself like clothes to prevent anyone from seeing the real Leonard McCoy. Some had become a second skin, and parting with them would be unpleasant.

He knew that his reaction probably grew from lack of self-confidence, but he couldn't help it. The last person who saw him for what he was had sent him the divorce papers. Second to last nearly broke his jaw. And the profound disappointment in his father's eyes wasn't exactly easy to stand. There were times when he didn't like himself very much, either. It was difficult to decide what unnerved him more, though: letting someone else see him for what he was, or being forced to look at his own reflection himself. Either way, he didn't like the idea.

Initially, Spock's telepathy didn't bother him at all. He half-forgot that the thing existed. He regarded Spock as a fellow human with a load of irritating quirks, but that was it. The first unpleasant reminder happened as he watched Spock perform a mind-meld with Doctor Van Gelder. McCoy remembered Spock's reluctance to engage in this 'highly intimate act,' reluctance that had infuriated the CMO at the time. Jim Kirk's life might have been in danger, and there was Spock, babbling something about hidden Vulcan practices reserved for their private lives. So McCoy pushed and pressed, slapping Spock with the danger his Captain was in to get him going. When he did, McCoy almost regretted it.

It was hard to watch. There was something in the way Spock touched the man, in the way he moved, something in the suddenly lowered timbre of his voice, in his all but glazed expression, that made the whole thing look eerie. McCoy didn't know what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this. For the first time, he was forcibly faced with the fact that Spock really was an alien, different in most profound ways. What he was doing looked creepy and somehow almost obscene. McCoy even wondered for several highly uncomfortable moments, if as a physician, he had failed his patient, if he had exposed Van Gelder to something indecent and possibly damaging.

But then the meld concluded, and Van Gelder was free from the horrible torture of having his memories and his very personality repressed by doctor Adams' machine. He slipped into a happy, relaxed slumber, and Spock... Spock slipped to the floor, pale as a sheet, perspiring and muttering something incoherent. He regained control in a few moments and assured a very freaked-out McCoy that he didn't require any assistance. He was out of the door faster than McCoy could aim a scanner at him, not that the idea had crossed McCoy's mind right that moment. Afterwards, Spock bluntly refused to answer any questions.

McCoy, however, was nothing if not persistent. Seeing Jim Kirk thoroughly shaken by his encounter with the device outweighed his apprehension of the mysterious voodoo.

'_The Captain needs your help, too, Mr. Spock. How can you be so selfish?'_

'_Doctor, I have already explained to you that it is a very private__, very personal thing to any Vulcan.'_

'_And t__he Captain isn't worth the trouble, right, Spock?'_

'_You do not know what it is you are asking.'_

'_I know that it helped Van Gelder! It can help Jim as well.'_

'_Given due time, the Captain will undoubtedly restore his equilibrium—"_

'_Good God, man! He's _hurting_ right now, Mr. Spock! Didn't you hear his voice? Didn't you catch the desolation in it? On the other hand, you probably wouldn't, callous creature that you are. You don't have a heart!'_

'_A strange misconception for a physician.'_

'_Well__, you don't act like you have one! I've heard the Captain call you a friend. I can't fathom how he figures that one!'_

McCoy didn't know what it was that finally got to Spock. He doubted it was something he said, much as he'd like to think so. More likely, it was of Jim's doing. The Captain did try to put on a brave façade, but the experience must have been so profound that he wasn't able to fool anyone, from his Yeoman to—well, apparently, to his First Officer. Spock watched him carefully throughout his shift, and, by the end of it, he evidently had had enough.

The next day, as McCoy strode onto the Bridge for his usual visual survey, he was slightly taken aback by how relaxed and rested Kirk looked. His smile was back, he flirted with the helm officer on duty, which for him was a very healthy sign, teased Scotty about something in Engineering, and all in all was positively beaming. McCoy watched the display for a while, pleasantly surprised, then looked over at the Science station. Spock appeared to be deep in his work, seemingly oblivious to whatever was happening behind his back.

McCoy walked over, studying him closely. He remembered Spock's less than dandy reaction to his meld with Van Gelder, and felt slightly guilty about pressing the Vulcan for another one. But Spock appeared absolutely normal. He feigned total ignorance of McCoy's presence, but when the Doctor failed to throw a conversational barb at him after several minutes, he did glance up, lifting his eyebrow quizzically. McCoy grinned at him, somewhat shyly, and leaning over, whispered, 'Thank you.' Then, a miracle happened. Spock didn't lecture him about thanks being illogical, nor did he ask for a clarification. He simply closed his eyes briefly in acknowledgment and returned to his work.

McCoy watched the two of them carefully for several weeks after that, looking for any sign of trouble. He didn't, however, spot anything unusual, apart from the growing affinity between the two, which could easily be stemming from the professional bond that any good command team was bound to develop. McCoy did ask Kirk about the mind-meld once, but the Captain wasn't overly forthcoming. He only said that it was a liberating experience and pretty much laughed away the rest of McCoy's questions.

It wasn't all that long, however, before McCoy got his own personal experience. Spock didn't ask for his permission. Spock needed information, and McCoy's mind contained it. Spock wasn't gentle or considerate. His intrusion was formidable, swift and utterly humiliating. And somehow, the fact that it was a Spock from another universe didn't help matters much. McCoy felt violated, faced with his own helplessness to stop it, and the most degrading thing was that it wasn't even Spock's intention. He only needed the information and was rather clinical while extracting it. No pleasure emanated from his mind, no sense of joy about overpowering his victim. The only emotion that transferred from him to McCoy was slight revulsion over having to dig into an inferior human mind.

McCoy was almost literally speechless in the Transporter Room. His relief at their safe return made him lightheaded and helped him survive the first day. He even teased their Spock on the Bridge, laughing along with Jim. But in the weeks to come, he couldn't go near Spock without shivering. He was, of course, intellectually aware that his Spock, this Spock, had nothing to do with the immoral actions of his counterpart. Intellectual awareness, however, did little to appease his gut feeling. This Spock and that Spock were basically the same person. If one was capable of it, then logically so was the other. McCoy knew he was being unfair, but he couldn't help it, couldn't fight himself.

Spock seemed to be aware of his trouble, through Jim no doubt, but it was obvious that the Vulcan didn't have the slightest idea what to do about it. He went as far as apologizing awkwardly, trying to reassure the distressed human, but McCoy only waved him off, '_It's my problem, Spock, not yours.'_ But when Spock reached to touch him unconsciously, acting out of some deeply sewn human instinct, meaning to comfort, McCoy couldn't jerk his hand away fast enough. They both felt utterly miserable that night, neither hiding it very well.

Unable to withstand the edgy silence, Kirk finally intervened, cornering McCoy at the end of his double shift.

'_Dammit, Bones, they are not us! You read your medical log in their Sick Bay—are you capable of those things? __You heard what your medical staff did on their side—do you hold it against Chapel or Demarco?'_

'_Look, Jim, I'm trying—'_

'_Then you're not trying hard enough. Has it ever occurred to you to ask Spock what our counterparts did while they were here? Do you know what that Jim Kirk did before he was apprehended? Do you see Spock wincing every time I walk into the room?'_

'_No. But, Jim, he's a Vulcan—'_

'_I'm not. Do you see me holding a grudge against Chekov? Do you see Uhura shying away from Sulu? Dammit, Bones! We dealt with our demons. Why can't you?'_

'_It's not the same. __What he did—'_

'He_ didn't do anything to you! Stop treating him like he's responsible. He takes enough guilt trips as it is.'_

'_Dammit, Jim, don't you think I want to feel differently? __I do! But no matter how much reasoning I do, sometimes he'll just look at me in that same way, and I can't help it. They are so alike! You said so yourself! We—each and every one of us—were so different in that blasted mirror, totally unrecognizable! Except for him! He was so goddamn much himself only in a different environment.'_

'_Bones, what happened to you is terrible, and I sympathize. But it wasn't Spock's fault. __Forget the other one, think about our Spock for a moment. He's the most benevolent person I know.'_

'_Sure he is. He only killed you once.'_

'_I don't believe you. I can't believe you'd hold anything against a person in his condition. Don't you remember him trying to talk T'Pau out of that decision? He did everything he could to prevent it, more than anyone could have expected! You're a physician, for God's sake! How can you condemn a patient for contracting a genetic disease?'_

'_I don't know, Jim. And I'm sorry. __I know none of this is his fault. I'll work it out, I promise.'_

'_Bones.' A sigh. 'I didn't mean to say that it was your fault. I realize you sustained a heavy trauma. But if you and Spock are to work together, you've got to get a hold o__n yourself. If there's anything I can do to help, I'd be happy to.'_

McCoy couldn't think of anything at the time, but after that conversation, he felt that the resolution to this issue was long overdue. But if it weren't for a timely case of bad luck, he doubted he'd have any luck at all. Being stranded with Spock on a planet with an extremely hostile population for two weeks miraculously helped them regain their footing. The fact that McCoy managed to get severely injured on the second day, the result being that Spock had to basically take care of his every need, seemed to restore their faith in each other. It took seeing that openly terrified look on Spock's face when he thought he had accidentally caused McCoy further injury for the Doctor to finally get in touch with this Vulcan, not his darker reflection. If not for fear of worsening his wounds, he'd have laughed at how safe he suddenly felt in Spock's company. The pain was almost worth it.

The events of his first two years as the _Enterprise's_ CMO made McCoy painfully aware of how limited his knowledge of Vulcan physiology and psychology was, and he was nothing if not dedicated to his patients. The moment he got wind of a talented young doctor taking his internship at the Vulcan Medical Academy, McCoy made it a point to make him join his staff. It took a lot of negotiating, and scheming, and sometimes even blackmail, before Jabilo M'Benga boarded the _Enterprise_, but McCoy didn't regret it. Spock got in trouble as often as Jim did, as if the two of them were competing for who could get more injured. It felt reassuring having someone around who knew what was going on.

"Tell me it's not what I think," McCoy said grudgingly, looking over the diagram.

"It's not what you think," M'Benga confirmed obediently. "Whatever that is," he added. "I see no evidence of a link of any kind."

"But?"

The younger doctor hesitated slightly, then relented. "But there's some predisposition towards it present."

"Anything to make it tougher. What kind of link are we talking about anyway?"

M'Benga sighed, clasping his hands on the desk.

"There are numerous types of telepathic connections on Vulcan," he spoke softly, preparing for a long lecture. "They are a telepathic society, even if it doesn't float on the surface. You know how protective the Vulcans are of their offspring. One of the strongest connections is the parental link, helping to keep the children out of trouble. It dissipates as the child enters adulthood. Then, there's obviously the betrothal link, with which you are familiar. When consummated, this link grows into a full matrimonial bond, which doesn't fade unless one's bondmate dies. There are also more shallow links between siblings, sometimes friends and even colleagues, which could be initiated and resolved by consenting parties without external intervention. Such connections are relatively superficial, but they do create a more transparent and efficient working environment."

"Like a human collective attains a certain affinity after many years of working together?"

"Quite, but where humans would need years to develop such a connection, Vulcans can simply establish it from day one, should they wish it."

"Sounds like cheating, if you ask me."

"It's their way. They don't like to waste time, Doctor, for all those getting-to-know-you things. That only happens if they are interested in becoming friends or romantically involved, but it's not essential for colleagues."

"Wait, romantically involved? I thought Vulcans didn't do casual romance."

"It's not casual. They do assess every partner as a possible life-mate. But you have to understand, they are a very closed society. They don't exactly advertise their internal affairs to outworlders. That doesn't mean they don't have them." M'Benga smiled somewhat leniently. "And unbonded Vulcans consider themselves no less on the market than you and me. Sometimes it goes for those betrothed but separated, too."

"But I thought they didn't..." McCoy felt confused. "I thought they couldn't..."

"Have sexual relations outside pon farr?" M'Benga blushed faintly, suddenly becoming very interested in his hands. "That is a misconception."

McCoy studied him, fighting a grin and not quite succeeding.

"I won't ask you how you came by that particular piece of information."

"Thank you, sir," M'Benga nodded. "After all, a gentleman does not—"

"—kiss and tell," McCoy chuckled. "I think I heard that one before. Was she or he worth it?"

M'Benga looked up at him, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously.

"_They_ were very much worth it." He laughed softly at McCoy's round eyes. "Well, I did spend five years there, Doctor. You couldn't expect me to, well..."

"Why do I suddenly feel like I'm two hundred years old?" McCoy complained into space. Then he grew serious again. "Your love affairs aside, you said there was some predisposition towards forming a link between Spock and Jim. What kind of link?"

"I can't be sure," M'Benga shook his head. "All I know is that their minds appear to be compatible and... show a certain familiarity with each other. You said they only melded once?"

"That was one time I know of. Neither of them ever mentioned there was another, but I don't know for sure. Spock guards his privacy like a dragon guards his gold, and Jim's very protective of his secrets."

"You'll pardon me for the presumption, sir," M'Benga fixed him with a penetrating stare, "but the Captain appears to be very protective of Mr. Spock himself, rather than only his secrets."

"They're friends," McCoy shrugged, unconcerned. "And you're right, no one takes that damn Vulcan as seriously as Jim does, but that's hardly surprising. You know they've started to call the two of them the best command team in Starfleet. All I can say, there's a reason for that."

"I don't doubt it. But if we are to determine the nature of their connection, we have to bear in mind that a brief contact with the Captain had allowed Commander Spock to pull himself out of what would have resulted in clinical insanity twice now. The first time, one year ago on Vulcan. The second time right here, before our eyes."

"See, that's what I don't like about it," McCoy interjected, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. "It all seems to be pretty one-sided."

M'Benga shook his head resignedly.

"Doctor, the phenomena I speak of wouldn't be possible without the Captain's consent, conscious or subconscious. A telepathic connection without consent is considered the worst crime a Vulcan can commit, but it's interesting that it has its basis in physiological facts. You see, to enforce such a connection against the will of the recipient, the Vulcan in question must be in full command of his faculties. Neither in _plak tow_, nor in the mental state the Commander was in after his recent ordeal, could he possibly overpower anyone's resistance. He'd lack conscious intent for that."

"But Jim is psi-null. What if he couldn't resist even if he wanted to?"

"It doesn't have to be forceful. He would only have to say 'no' and feel reluctance. Vulcans are very sensitive in this regard. It would have been all it took."

"I see," McCoy said softly. "I see. Then I made a mistake by separating them."

M'Benga looked skeptical.

"I doubt the separation had any kind of damaging effect on Mr. Spock's health. From my observations, when injured, they do seem to feel better in each other's presence, but it's not something phenomenal."

"Nothing a little friendly attention wouldn't do."

"Exactly. I doubt you caused them any harm by keeping them apart."

"But apparently, there's not much sense in it either," McCoy sighed. "I'll tell them the restriction is off. That potential link bothers me, though."

"Why?" M'Benga looked at him steadily. "Strictly speaking, it's not even a medical problem, but rather a personal affair. And Doctor, the only way it could be potentially dangerous to either would be if it was a betrothal kind, which could grow into a life bond. But there's no evidence of that."

"You're saying it's merely a... professional connection, Vulcan style?"

M'Benga shrugged.

"There's no way to be certain until it establishes itself. It'll probably be more personal than that, but none of the life/death bonds."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because it takes one hell of a lot of Vulcan ceremonies, Doctor, to form one. If that was the case, it would have happened a year ago, and you'd be very well aware of it, believe me. Vulcans are nothing if not logical and thorough."

"You've got a point," McCoy conceded.

"There is, of course, a special category," M'Benga mused quietly. "Antique types of bonds and links, used by the warrior class in ancient times. But I doubt there's much chance of that. After Vulcans had adopted the teachings of Surak, such bondings became almost extinct. They are extremely rare nowadays, even among two full-blooded Vulcans."

"I see," McCoy said, frowning. "Jabilo, I'd like you to summarize all this in a short report I'd like to show the Captain. Tell him what he's getting himself into."

"Of course, sir." M'Benga stood up and looked at him with a sly smile. "If you don't mind me mentioning this, Doctor McCoy, but you seem very protective of the Captain yourself."

McCoy glanced at him sharply. M'Benga only grinned ruefully.

"You do know he's an adult, right?"

McCoy gave him a very telling look.

M'Benga laughed. "Well, technically anyway."

McCoy fumed silently, watching his younger colleague go. Damn those closed-mouthed green-blooded pixies. He and Jim had been friends for many years without any need to poke into each other's heads. Why wasn't that enough for Spock? He'd been in Starfleet for eighteen or whatever-it-was years, he never felt the need to go all Vulcan about it. Weren't humans as non-telepaths considered inferior? Whatever happened to his goddamned arrogance?

McCoy couldn't quite explain why he didn't like the idea so much. Was it because the concept was so completely alien? Was it because it had to deal with telepathy? Or was it simply because it had to deal with Spock, that walking Pandora's box?

McCoy sighed, reaching to terminate the computer session. It hadn't happen yet. He still had time to alert Jim and try and talk some sense into him. McCoy wasn't overly optimistic, though. Jim assumed a rather funny attitude whenever it came to Spock.

If the Captain's support was food, Spock would have been so round by now, he'd be rolling rather than walking. And this attitude, McCoy admitted grudgingly, had started long before any kind of Vulcan mumbo-jumbo was even introduced. Jim was, for lack of a better term, fascinated, and it didn't seem to be wearing off any time soon. He often looked at Spock with the same kind of mindless adoration that a younger kid adopts towards his elder playmate.

Kids grew up, though. Jim, on the other hand, seemed to be stuck in a four-year-old mindset when it came to Spock, without even knowing it. He was simply too obvious, looking for Spock's approval when he didn't need it, trying to best him in everything just to make an impression, feeling upset when Spock kept to himself, and doing happy cartwheels when Spock found something he did logical, which for a Vulcan was the highest praise possible. The only thing that made the situation tolerable, in McCoy's view, was that Spock seemed to be honestly and completely oblivious to any of this. Otherwise, McCoy would imagine, his smugness would have been truly unbearable.

It also didn't look like Spock was in a hurry to pull Jim into whatever weird tie M'Benga had in mind. Given the Vulcan's general predilection towards overlooking completely the simplest facts about his own condition, let alone anyone else's, McCoy sincerely doubted Spock had a clue about what they were facing. If he did, he'd most likely be terrified. After their detour to Vulcan, Spock had been apologizing to both him and Jim for days, until Kirk had had enough and yelled at him to call it quits. Spock did shut up, but adopted an unnerving habit of throwing openly guilty looks Kirk's way whenever the subject was broached. McCoy was pretty sure Spock made a point to keep Kirk as far away from all things Vulcan as possible. He definitely wouldn't welcome the news.

McCoy sighed. What the hell was he supposed to do? Where did his obligations as a medic end and those of a friend begin? His instinct was telling him not to meddle, his conscience had another opinion. And the most disturbing thing was that he didn't know what the best course of action would be. He couldn't decide. His arguments were eliminating one another and his gut feelings were all conflicted. M'Benga pretty much indicated that, in his view, they should be left to their own devices. McCoy cringed at the idea, which sounded selfish and callous to his ears.

But he didn't have much choice, did he? Until something _happened_, there was no way of telling if it would be for the best or for the worst. Reluctantly, he decided to let them steer their own boat for a while and see where it would take them. It would be hard, merely watching, when so many things could go wrong, but he really didn't have much of an alternative. He'd have to trust them to be responsible for a while. After all, they were adults.

Technically, anyway.

* * *

"I do not believe it will work," Spock said skeptically.

"Thank you for this vote of confidence," Luca said sarcastically. "Coming from you, it's practically a blessing."

"Gentlemen," Scott spared them a short disapproving glance. "I'm trying to work here."

"Sorry, Scotty," Luca muttered, with a sheepish grin.

Spock said nothing, choosing instead to inspect the rather unusual looking Engine Room. He had of course as much first-hand experience with the ordeal the ship had just undergone as anyone, but it still felt vaguely unnerving to see that what used to be a shrine of neatness now resembled the workshop of some haywire human genius.

Every panel seemed to be blown apart, its contents splayed open, twinkling and blinking at random, with a huge spider web of energy couplings and plasma conduits covering the room like a cocoon. If Spock hadn't been here from the beginning of this 'slight alteration,' he was sure he would never have been able to tell heads or tails of it. Even as it was, he needed to stay constantly focused not to lose track of things. Luca gave up on the whole idea a long time ago, simply doing what he was told and staying happy about it. Most of the engineering staff was quite sympathetic to his position. It was Montgomery Scott alone for whom this apparent chaos made perfect sense.

"We're ready here," Kerr called from what used to be an intermix monitoring station. "Whenever you give the go, Mr. Scott."

"Aye, roger," Scott called back, taking his phase modulator out of his mouth. "Spock?"

"Ready here," Spock informed him, watching the display diligently. "Phase variance less than point zero zero one. I do not believe it will get better."

"Gabler?" this time, Scott spoke to his communicator.

"Everything steady here, sir," his deputy reported from the reactor chamber.

"What's that sound?" Scott asked.

"Nothing, sir. Uh, Davis here is knocking on my head, sir."

"Why?"

"He has mistaken it for wood, sir."

"Sure sounded like it."

The sound of a struggle.

"I have corrected him now, Mr. Scott. His head... I mean the wood has now been properly knocked on, sir."

"Mighty glad to hear that. Keep at it, and ye'll both be pulling extra shifts for a month."

"Yes, sir. I mean, no sir. I mean—"

"We're starting," Scott cut him off, straightening up and looking around. "Brace yerselves... just in case."

"Now he warns us," Luca grunted under his breath.

"In three, two, one." Scott threw the switch.

At first, it seemed that nothing had happened. Then a low hum filled the room, starting under their feet and steadily picking up the pace and intensity.

"Phase variance up to point zero three," Spock warned, raising his voice over the hum. "And climbing."

"Compensating!" Kerr shouted from the opposite end of the room. "Mr. Scott, I can't—"

"I'm on it." Scott dove back inside the cave of wires, trying to reach the flood regulator vent.

"Phase variance point zero seven," Spock said. "Point zero nine!"

"Mr. Scott, we have to abort!" Kerr yelled, working her controls desperately. "We're headed for a breach, I can't stabilize the reaction!"

"Not just yet," Scott muttered stubbornly, reaching within the open vent. "Not just yet."

"_Mr. Scott_!"

"Easy there," Scott raised his voice slightly. His face was rigid with tension, sweat trickling down his brow. "We stop when I say we stop."

"But, sir—"

"As ye were, Lieutenant. That's an order!"

"Phase variance point one two!"

"Never thought I'd see the day when I'd be tellin' _you_ to cool down," Scott muttered under his breath. Louder, he shouted, "Tell me when it hits point five, not before!"

"Acknowledged. It will be critical by that point, though."

"Spock," Luca shook his head at him. "He knows that."

Silence followed that statement, interrupted only by an occasional muffled curse from Scott. The deck suddenly lurched wildly under their feet, and all at once all vibration stopped. For a short incredulous moment, everyone in the room simply listened to the steady sound of the warp reactor at work. Then, Scott extracted himself from the vent and grinned, pinning the Vulcan with a smug stare.

"Mr. Spock?"

"Phase variance zero," Spock said, and looked up from his display. "Congratulations, Mr. Scott."

"Aye," Scott nodded, picking himself up off the deck. "To all of us. Lieutenant, contact the Bridge and tell the Captain we have the warp reactor running."

"Yes, sir," Kerr grinned at him, looking elated. "The Captain will ask about warp drive."

"And ye know what to tell him. We're not gods down here."

"No, Scotty," Luca said, stepping over to him and clapping him on the shoulder enthusiastically. "I think you're closer to the devil."

Scott laughed. "No, no, that role's already cast around here. No offense, Mr. Spock, but... Where is he?"

Luca's head snapped towards the station that Spock had occupied only a moment ago. The Vulcan was nowhere in sight.

"What the hell?" Luca muttered. "Spock?"

There was no reply.

"He couldn't have gone too far," Luca said. "I'll go, you need to stay here, with all this."

"Aye," Scott nodded, looking both tired and perplexed.

Luca was out of the doors already.

"Spock?" he called, looking around in hopes of locating the Vulcan. "Spock?"

He ran along the corridors, calling for Spock to no avail. He almost decided to call the Bridge for a ship-wide search when he finally spotted him in a dark corner in the intersection. Spock was sitting on the deck, with his back flat against the wall, his eyes closed and hands clutching his temples frantically.

"Spock," Luca breathed out in relief, crouching down beside him. "Spock, what's wrong? What—"

"Don't," Spock hissed sharply, recoiling when Luca reached for his hand. "Please do not touch me. I will be functional in a moment."

"You don't look remotely functional," Luca noted worriedly, backing off slightly to give him some room. "What happened?"

Spock lowered his hands slowly and opened his eyes. His pupils were completely dilated, and his eyes appeared bloodshot.

"Nothing of consequence. It will pass shortly."

"_Spock_."

Spock straightened up forcibly, his body so tightly wound up it was painful to watch. He looked down at Luca who remained on the deck. There was a visible shift in Spock's stance, and then he relented.

"Too many volatile emotions," he said, as if it explained everything.

"Back there?" Luca rose up slowly.

"Yes. There were too many people."

"And none of them felt easy about Scotty's plan."

"Yes," Spock nodded blandly. "Anxiety. Worry. Fear. Excitement. I couldn't... it was too much, too... strong. My shields are too weak, they could not withstand it." He looked away, fighting to collect himself. "Please, if you would just give me a moment, I shall endeavor to repair the damage."

"Spock," Luca looked at him helplessly. "Can't your doctor think of something? There must be something he can do."

"I do not require anyone's assistance," Spock snapped sharply. "I can deal with this myself."

Luca recoiled slightly from the ferociousness of his words.

"All right," he said after a while. "I'll leave you if that's what you want."

"I would appreciate it."

Luca nodded, stepping back into the corridor. Then, he glanced back.

"There are people who care about you, you know," he said mildly. "You don't have to be alone all the time."

Spock looked at him slowly, strange determination tugging at his features.

"Yes," he said firmly. "I have to. It is the only way."

With that, he gripped the railing and climbed down the ladder, leaving Luca alone.

* * *

Kirk didn't look up at the sound of the door swishing open, but grinned, studying his monitor.

"You know, Lieutenant, I could tell your step any day. If pumas wore heels, you'd be—"

"Sir."

Something in her unnaturally flat tone made him turn around. His grin faded.

"Go ahead," he prompted her softly. "I don't usually kill messengers."

Uhura took another step towards him, lifting her padd protectively in front of her. She was pale and looked thoroughly shaken.

"Captain, I have intercepted a message," she started slowly and reluctantly, as if fighting to get the words out. "Six hours ago, someone destroyed Kalina Ranga."

"The space station?"

"Yes, sir. The main center of Legourian commerce operations. Population about two thousand people. There were no survivors."

Kirk closed his eyes briefly. "Who did this?"

Uhura actually swallowed. "The Legourian government has issued a statement," she said, giving him the padd. "According to it, they consider the Federation responsible."

"What?" Kirk stared at her, taking the padd automatically, but not looking.

"They said the _Enterprise_ chased them into neutral space, then attacked the station without provocation and destroyed it. They are now demanding compensation."

"The sum must be astronomical," Kirk muttered, stupefied.

"They demand ten million credits. And that we build them a new space station."

"But this is absurd!" Kirk shook his head, disturbed and perplexed. "We weren't anywhere near it!"

"We have gone 'missing,' Captain," she reminded him quietly. "With the subspace silence and all..."

"They're going to need more than that to back up their claims."

"They say they have a record showing the _Enterprise_ attacking one of their ships." Kirk groaned. Uhura bit her lip hard, and added, "They insist that it was a Starfleet officer who murdered their Ambassador."

"Oh, this is simply too good a set up!" the Captain clapped at his desk in frustration. "Any reaction from Starfleet?"

She nodded, and for the first time Kirk realized that she was frightened. She tried desperately not to show it, but her very stance told him that the worst news was yet to come.

"Yes, sir," she said. "Starfleet has declared the _Enterprise_ a rogue ship with rebel crew. They deny all responsibility for our actions."

"For our actions?" He stood up, unable to remain immobile. "You mean, Starfleet holds us responsible, too?"

"It's in their official communiqué, sir. You and Mr. Spock have been declared outlaws. Your officers are charged with following illegal orders. So is your crew. It also says there that the search operation will begin immediately."

Kirk pressed his hand to his mouth, thinking. It wasn't easy with the deafening pounding within his head, which was either his pulse or the sound of his complete astonishment. He was stunned.

"I disengaged the transceiver," Uhura said barely above a whisper. "They could have tracked us, and I..." she trailed off and bowed her head.

"Me and Spock," Kirk repeated pensively. "Me and Spock? Lieutenant, are you quite certain there weren't any other names mentioned?"

She looked up at him, puzzled.

"Yes, sir, quite certain. Just you and Mr. Spock."

"Really," Kirk said, frowning with an air of something falling into place. "Lieutenant, do me a favor. Find Captain Radek and tell him I need to have a word with him. Then get a hold of Security and have them guard my door until I dismiss them."

She stared at him wide-eyed.

"Sir?"

He met her gaze evenly.

"I think it's long past time the Captain and I had a talk," he said. "After that, I'll make a ship-wide address."

"Yes, sir," she nodded, turning to go, then stopped suddenly and glanced back. "Captain?"

Kirk cursed himself mutely for being insensitive. He knew that look. It was the same one she had given him, before setting out to perform her task in the Mirror universe. The same look she sent his way at the Guardian planet. The look that screamed of her need for reassurance that she, as an officer, could never voice.

He stepped closer to her swiftly and clasped her shoulders. He didn't say anything. He couldn't make himself say that everything was going to be fine, because at this point he had no idea if such promise had even a slim chance of being fulfilled. He knew that she knew it, too. All he could do was look into her eyes with a single message, '_You are not alone_.' In this mess they had gotten themselves into, all of them were together. To think and possibly to sink. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, and he was damn determined not to let that happen.

That was the only solace he could give her. She nodded silently, gave him a weak, slightly faltering smile, and left to execute his orders. Kirk sighed in the silence of his quarters. He hoped they were the correct ones.


	12. Twelve

**Twelve**

"I have no explanation for you, Captain," Radek said, frowning, as he handed the padd back to Kirk.

"You're sure about that?"

Radek's expression darkened further as he glanced over Kirk's openly skeptical face.

"If you have something to say, Kirk, just say it. I'm not a diplomat you need to sugarcoat before getting to the point. I have explained to you the nature of my original assignment, and how I happened to be here, too, in as many words. So what exactly is your problem?"

"I don't trust you," Kirk said bluntly.

"The feeling's mutual," Radek assured him. "Yet at the moment we happen to be in the same boat—or should I say in the same bed, given our respective position in regards to Starfleet and the Legourians right now? Figuratively speaking of course."

Kirk raised his eyebrows.

"As some would say, a crude metaphor, but an apt one. The thing is, while we may be in the same bed, I doubt we're there for the same reason."

"You can speak plainer than that."

"As you wish. I have a theory about the nature of your involvement, which would explain why you haven't been declared a renegade with the rest of us. Would you like me to share it?"

"Please."

"I think that Admiral Chen did order you to pay a visit to the Ambassador's quarters to determine if the Legourians were collecting data. But I think that when you saw just what data had been gathered, you realized how profitable it would be to appropriate it. You wanted to steal the data clean, but the Legourian returned early and caught you in the act. You killed him, but you couldn't make a clean exit and you failed to discover for whom the information was intended. You used Spock to find out who the intended buyer was, and now you're using the _Enterprise_ to get to them. Then, we'd be either destroyed or arrested, and you come out of it clean as a whistle and with a small fortune as a prize."

Radek's eyes were glaring daggers at Kirk, but otherwise the other Captain remained completely still throughout Kirk's lecture.

"Captain," he said slowly, his voice wound-up with tightly controlled fury. "Is my hearing failing me, or have you just accused me of treason?"

"You heard me right."

There was a short nervous silence, and then Radek shook his head in disgust.

"If we weren't on your vessel, and if you hadn't saved my life, intentionally or no, I'd deck you for the implication alone, and not even those gorillas at your door could stop me."

"Colorful," Kirk noted, unimpressed. "I give you that, I've never heard anyone's cowardice explained away so elegantly before."

Radek's lips stretched in a strained smile.

"Well, I've heard pick-up lines that worked better as a provocation for a fight than that pass of yours, too. If you need a reason to hit me, don't be shy, Kirk. We can ask the guards to join us so that they could hold my hands, while you're at it."

"You..." Kirk's jaw stiffened painfully, but he managed to get a hold on himself. "Why would I want to soil my hands with a traitor?"

"Aren't you putting the cart before the horse with this label? Your theory is sure fascinating, but you have no proof."

"But you don't deny it."

Radek laughed mirthlessly.

"What's the point? We're on your ship. You can do whatever the hell you want here. You said it already, you don't trust me. Nothing I say can change your mind, so why bother?"

"If you insist on still being faithful to your oath, you can't decline to answer."

"Well, according to this order, you're an outlaw and don't have any legal power over any officer anymore. But I'll give you some more facts to consider."

"Such as?"

"Spock."

"What about him?"

Radek leaned back in his chair, almost lazily.

"He trusts me, you know. And I would never lie to him, because it's a) pointless, and b) happens to be the one thing he doesn't forgive. So you see, Captain, if you're right about me and Spock still trusts me, it can only mean that we're working together. Logic, Kirk. A rather useful trait."

"Spock would never—"

"Wouldn't he? Let's see. You believe I'm in it for personal gain? He could be protecting Vulcan interests. A scandal such as this will certainly put Legourians out of business. You think he'd pass up an opportunity to prove himself like that? Even you must know how much it means to him to be a good Vulcan. Or do you think perhaps that his allegiance to you supersedes that of the Vulcan High Council?"

"His allegiance is to Starfleet and—"

"Then, of course, there's Scott. You ordered him to check out Spock's work because he's had his head messed with, but you never ordered him to check mine."

That actually gave Kirk a pause.

"I'm sure Mr. Scott did it anyway," he said, but he didn't sound entirely confident.

Radek grinned in understanding.

"But you don't know that. Scotty's known me for a hell of a lot longer than he's known you. What makes you think he isn't in on this, too? Then, there's Lieutenant Kerr, whom you have so conveniently brought along. She's your second officer now, can you imagine how much messing around the four of us could have done? Not to mention that your Communications Officer seems to be quite fond of me."

Kirk sized him up with an appraising glance, trying to keep his emotions at bay. He was never good at that, though.

"If you're trying to tell me that my officers would support you over me, it won't work."

"Oh, that's not what I'm trying to do at all," Radek snapped, suddenly sharply. "I'm only trying to find out how far that paranoia of yours goes. Good God, you were actually considering it! You really thought they were capable of doing that. Beats me who trusted you with a captain's chair when you have no knowledge of your own people."

"That's enough," Kirk cut him off curtly. For a long moment, the two of them simply glared at each other. Then, Kirk stood up determinedly and walked towards the door to let the Security guards in. "Escort Captain Radek to his quarters. He's confined there until further notice."

"Aye, sir," the guard snapped at attention. "Captain Radek, would you come with us?"

Radek rose to his feet, a soft, ironic smile playing across his lips. He looked at Kirk with a mixture of sarcasm and sympathy.

"It must be hard to be you, Captain," he said, as he passed Kirk. "Self-doubt is not for someone in our job."

Kirk knew he shouldn't react, but couldn't help himself. Gathering all disdain he could muster, he blurted, "And you never feel it? Maybe you aren't even human."

Radek looked as if he was actually considering the question.

"I never let it rule my life or define my decisions. Captains are allowed to make mistakes, Kirk. But they aren't allowed to doubt."

"Who the hell are you to lecture me? I know more about it than you ever will."

"Really," Radek said skeptically. "Could have fooled me."

Kirk nodded at the guards. "Take him."

He stepped back inside his cabin and felt a rush of frustration washing over him. It had been almost three years since his promotion, but he still remembered all the humiliating rumors and sarcastic whispers exchanged behind his back, speculating on what he had to do to be promoted to captain at his age. More than that, to get command of not just any ship, but the _Enterprise_. He couldn't believe he was back to that crap.

He was angry at Radek for bringing it up, but he was far more angry at himself for letting it get to him. Seriously, young or no, he was long past the age when he could have been provoked with nothing but several sharp words, well-aimed as they had been.

And they were well-aimed, damn it. He trusted his crew. They had been through hell together, and not just once. He knew these people. His people. Uhura may be flirting her way through the galaxy, but Kirk had yet to see it go to her head, even once. Scott would first need to be decapitated before even an attempt at coercion could be made. Kerr seemed to be a loyal officer, friendship or no. And Spock...

Kirk sighed, rubbing at his eyes irritably. That was the main reason for his outburst, the hook that Radek used so skillfully to get under his skin. How did he know? Was it merely a lucky guess? Or did he have some truly incredible intuition?

Kirk knew he would never believe that Spock could betray his oath to Starfleet. But this whole situation had an undeniable personal subtext, and that was where Kirk's chart still stated, 'Here be dragons.' He knew he should be certain of Spock by now. He should be.

But he wasn't.

There had probably been one time too many when Spock didn't tell him about something important; didn't ask for his help, when he needed it; didn't trust his captain—his friend?—with something personal. Sometimes even putting both their lives at risk by his silence, Spock still wouldn't talk, until he was pressed into a corner where he had no other choice. Kirk had learned to recognize this pattern by now, him pressing, Spock caving. Spock always gave in, in the end, but it was frustrating as hell that every single time he had to be forced to relent. And it didn't always happen on time, either.

Their detour to Talos IV still bugged Kirk no end, hard as he had tried to let the matter go. He told himself he had long forgiven Spock for his silence, but he couldn't forget the casual ease with which his ship had been taken from him. Good intentions or no, there was no denying that on that day, Spock did what he deemed necessary, with no regard to his, Kirk's, opinion, and on top of that, Scott hadn't stopped him.

Kirk shook his head, trying to shove the unpleasant thoughts aside. It wasn't a goddamned déjà vu. He was in control now. A lot of time had passed since then, a lot of water had flowed under the bridge. Spock had done plenty of things that spoke up for his loyalty. Kirk had come to trust him implicitly.

Or had he?

_Damn_.

Maybe that was what Radek was aiming for and Kirk was just doing his job for him?

A whistle from the intercom interrupted his disturbed train of thoughts, and Kirk reached for the button with a sense of relief he didn't want to admit to.

"Kirk here."

"Sulu here, Captain. We've reached the coordinates."

"Can we get an accurate scan of the nebula?"

"No, sir. Our sensors are still not at their peak efficiency, and besides the composition of the nebula is—"

"Yes, I know, Mr. Sulu. Take us in slowly and hold position. Uhura?"

"Here, Captain."

"Call a senior staff meeting in Briefing Room One and ask Mr. Spock to join us."

"Now, Captain?"

"Yes, right now. You come down, too, let Sulu have the conn."

"Acknowledged, Captain."

"Kirk out."

For a moment, he stared at his blank monitor grimly, then got to his feet decisively and marched out of the room. If Radek believed Kirk was the hesitating type, he was a poor judge of character, Kirk thought nastily. He felt instantly better, having his doubts locked up behind the firmly closed door of his quarters.

* * *

It didn't help that when he entered the briefing room, his gaze immediately fixed on Spock and Scott standing aside from everyone else and conversing quietly. It didn't help any. Kirk gritted his teeth, cursing under his breath. He intended to walk past them, but Spock turned to him as he approached, frowning ever so slightly.

"Captain. May I ask for what reason you confined Captain Radek?"

The Vulcan spoke softly, not loud enough to be overheard outside their immediate circle, and there was nothing but profound confusion in his voice and a touch of worry. Kirk rounded on him, as if Spock had challenged him to a duel.

"I had my reasons, Mr. Spock," he snapped. "And I admire your concern for him, but we have more pressing matters to discuss."

"Due respect, Captain, I do not believe this subject to be irrelevant."

"Are you questioning my decisions, Mr. Spock?"

"No, sir. I merely wish to understand what prompted this one."

"I suspect Captain Radek of being guilty of treason. Enough reasoning for you?"

"Sir, that is impossible," Spock stated, his expression changing to one of utter incredulity. "Luca is one of the most loyal officers I know."

"Maybe you don't know him all that well."

"Captain, I urge you to reconsider your position—"

"Which part of 'the subject is closed' do you not understand, Mr. Spock?" Kirk asked acidly. "Somehow you seem to be under the delusion that since you're not part of the command structure of this vessel anymore, you have some special right to defy me. Well, I've got news for you—you don't. So I'd appreciate it if you'd knock off the arrogant pep talk, stop offering opinions without being asked, and stick to following orders."

The deafening silence in the room told him their conversation had ceased to be private quite some time ago. Spock didn't quite back off, but he winced, almost imperceptibly, just enough for Kirk to notice. Kirk's ears were ringing with the sound of a slap, as surely as if he had struck the Vulcan for real.

It was a fleeting moment. The Captain was only halfway from exploding anger to regret, when Spock's face closed, swiftly becoming devoid of any expression. He stared straight ahead, coming to near attention.

"Yes, sir."

Kirk closed his eyes for a second, cursing inwardly. Now was not the time to fix it. Assuming, of course, that it even could be fixed. He turned abruptly towards the table and sat down, glaring at the assembled senior staff who were mostly staring at him. Instantly, they averted their eyes, schooling their own expressions from shock to neutrality. Scott sat down next to him; Spock walked stiffly to the opposite side of the table and took the last vacant seat next to Uhura. Kirk saw her throwing a quick glance at Spock before returning her attention to the Captain.

"We're in trouble," Kirk declared, focusing on the meeting. "You heard my address, you know of our current status. We now have two objectives to accomplish: Stop the Legourians from passing on their information and redeem our good name. I asked you here to review our options. Opinions?"

He looked around the table, trying to gauge their reaction. What he saw wasn't reassuring.

"Well," McCoy said flatly, looking at his hands. "Option one, we surrender to Starfleet and try to explain ourselves. Which would probably take years."

"Legally sound," Kirk nodded. "But unacceptable. We won't be able to stop the Legourians if we're seized."

"And Starfleet will mull this over forever," Kerr interjected. "Assuming we even pick the party that won't destroy us on sight."

She was looking decidedly unhappy and didn't make eye contact with the Captain, either, but the fact that she spoke at all was strangely comforting. Kirk nodded again.

"Captain," Giotto said carefully. "It seems to me that our problems have one source—the Cardassians. They seem to be the X factor and they also seem to hold the key to this entire situation."

"I agree," Kirk said. "Mr. Spock, what do we know about the Cardassians?"

There was a short pause, as everyone looked at Spock, who didn't lift his eyes from his hands clasped on the table. Kirk held his breath, even though he knew that Spock couldn't ignore a direct question.

"Very little," the Vulcan said, addressing his hands. "They seem to be another significant intergalactic power. Form of government unknown. Location unknown. Behavioral pattern undetermined. Intentions unknown. Technological development—apparently advanced. What little intelligence we have on them has come via the Klingons. It would appear that the Cardassians have recently come in contact with the Klingon Empire, which suggests that their spheres of interest are now overlapping."

"But since the Klingons aren't exactly willing to share their intelligence with us, we don't know any details," Kirk said, watching him.

Spock didn't acknowledge him in any way, continuing to speak as if there had been no interruption.

"The fact that they have been collecting information on the Federation covertly, instead of making an open first contact, suggests first, that their intentions are hostile, and second, they would go to any length not to show their hand."

Giotto was nodding thoughtfully throughout Spock's speech. As the Vulcan fell silent, he looked up. "I'm pretty sure they were the ones who destroyed that Legourian station."

"There does seem to be evidence to that effect," Spock inclined his head slightly.

"Like what?" Kirk asked.

"Firepower," Scott said. "I've been to Kalina Ranga several years ago, Captain. It was a fortress in space. To destroy it so fast and so completely—that must have been some trick."

"You don't know that the Cardassians did it," Kirk said.

"I know that none of the species we know could," Scott shrugged. "Not like this. The weapons they lent to the Legourians, Captain, are more powerful than what we have here, and we're a starship. And I don't think they got a prime sample, too."

"Well, that's just dandy," McCoy intoned sarcastically. "We don't even have a warp drive, and we're about to pick a fight with the new sheriff who came to town. How lucky can we get?"

"Pretty lucky if it's one and the same ship that destroyed the station and is headed here now for the rendezvous," Kirk said.

"I don't believe they have more, Captain," Giotto said. "It's a reconnaissance mission, not an invasion."

"Not yet," McCoy inserted.

"And these guys seem to go to great trouble to keep their privacy," the Security Chief continued. "I'm pretty sure we're dealing with one ship."

"Oh, well, great then," McCoy snorted. "We beam over and ask politely to make a copy of their logs to prove our innocence, then clean their computers of any Federation-related materials and beam home. Problem solved, ain't nothing to it."

"Exactly what I had in mind, Bones," Kirk said. "Problem is, in order to stand a fighting chance against them, we need some small piece of information beforehand. Like their shield frequency, the ship layout, computer codes... Can you see why it's not an option?"

"Damn, and I was so close."

The short silence that followed the exchange was ominous. Their only option seemed to be completely non-viable.

"Permission to make a suggestion, Captain?" Spock asked evenly, without looking up.

Kirk suppressed a sigh. He earned it and he knew it. Not that it made things easier for him.

"Granted," he said. "I asked for opinions, Mr. Spock. That includes you."

"This option seems to be the only solution that answers both our objectives," Spock said.

"Pity we don't have the means to accomplish it," Kerr noted.

"Correct, we do not," Spock nodded curtly. "At present. However, there is one person aboard the Legourian vessel who can provide us with all the necessary information to complete this task."

They all stared at him, but Spock still wouldn't lift his eyes.

"Spock, you don't mean—"

"The person who interrogated me," Spock inclined his head once more. "He is a Cardassian. And as Commander Giotto pointed out, since there is only one ship in the area, it is logical to assume he is a member of its crew. It is also logical to assume that he holds a considerably high rank, as he had been made a liaison with their Legourian allies. If we can get him aboard the _Enterprise_, he can provide us with the information we need."

"We need to board their vessel anyway," Kerr said. "To clean up their computer banks. If we find a way to do that—"

"That shouldn't be too hard," Scott said. "That little gift I left for them would have derailed their weapons by now."

"Great," McCoy scoffed. "And once we get him aboard, we get the information out of him—how? I, for one, am not prepared to torture him."

"There will be no need, Doctor," Spock assured him coolly. "There are other methods of persuasion. I am confident that I can make him comply."

"How, Spock?" McCoy snapped indignantly. "By messing around in his head? You're in no condition to do that, and besides, isn't that illegal?"

Spock glanced at him curtly.

"I did not suggest any kind of mental contact between us, Doctor. As I said, there are other methods of persuasion."

"Bribery?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"What can you offer him to make him talk?" Kirk asked, curious and worried.

Spock finally looked at him, but it didn't make much of a difference. His eyes were completely opaque.

"Something of a personal value that would present no security risk to the Federation."

"And you're certain he'll take the bait?"

"Yes, Captain. He will take it."

"Well then," Kirk said, looking around the table. "Fine. Let's—"

"No, it's not fine," McCoy interjected. "What if the Cardassians show up first? Has anyone thought about that?"

"That'll be our tough luck, Doctor," Kirk replied evenly. "There's always surrendering to Starfleet if it comes to that."

"This is crazy," McCoy shook his head. "Completely crazy. But I'm in."

Kirk grinned at him, then turned towards the Engineer.

"Scotty?"

Scott shrugged. "I agree with Doctor McCoy, this is crazy," he said. "But I don't see that we have much of a choice. It's either that, or crawling back to Starfleet with our heads on a platter. And besides—"

"Yes, the data." Kirk looked around at the others. "Anyone have a better suggestion?"

They all shook their heads, except for Spock who remained immobile. Kirk pursed his lips and nodded.

"Fine then. This meeting is now concluded. Go back to your stations and let's hope we'll get what little luck we need. Dismissed."

He watched them leave one by one, while still hovering over his chair. Spock, ever polite, was the last one in the queue and, without thinking, Kirk took a step to follow, opening his mouth to halt him. McCoy, whose presence Kirk didn't even notice, stood up and caught his arm, stalling him.

"Jim. Not now."

"I only wanted to—"

"I know and I'm telling you, not now. You'll make it worse."

Kirk snorted humorlessly.

"You think it's even possible?"

"Given the kind of day you seem to be having, yeah, it's very possible. Leave him be, he's got a job to do."

Kirk sighed, desisting. McCoy watched him quietly.

"Jim, was it really so necessary to detain Radek?"

"I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think so," Kirk grunted. "Why?"

McCoy shrugged.

"He seems to have a way of making Spock relax somewhat. With his shields down, this Vulcan is a nervous wreck, and—"

"He'll have to find some other way of relaxing," Kirk snapped, before he even knew what he was saying.

McCoy took a step back and eyed him carefully.

"Yeah," he drawled, as if having come to some kind of conclusion. "Do us all a favor, Jim, and don't talk to Spock until your eyes aren't quite so green anymore, okay?"

"What the hell is this supposed to—"

"Just don't. I'll be in Sick Bay, and I hope you won't need me."

Kirk watched him go gloomily. This was indeed some day.

* * *

"Try it now, Lieutenant," Spock suggested softly.

Whether by coincidence or due to the combination of Mr. Scott's perceptiveness and good will, Spock spent the last six hours working on restoring the ship's sensors. Working alone. He had used the time well, rebuilding his own equilibrium, as methodically as he replaced the damaged circuitry. Now he was finally on the Bridge, connecting the remaining pathways beneath the Science station.

"I think it's working," Kerr said, watching the monitor. "We've just picked up about sixty percent in resolution."

Spock pursed his lips. Sixty percent were very far from the desired result, but compared to twelve, it was something.

"Do not initiate an active sweep just yet," he told her. "We do not want to give away our position. I shall attempt to reconnect the automatic decipherer."

"Oh, I don't know," Kerr chuckled tiredly. "I think I've become pretty good at reading the unsorted gibberish lately."

"It is, in fact, a useful skill," Spock said, shifting his position at her feet to reach the said device.

"Maybe," she agreed, making tentative adjustments on the panel to see if it could clear the readout. "But I doubt anyone remembers much of it, after they pass their test at the Academy. It does seem like we're relying on the machinery too much."

"I see nothing wrong with doing both," Spock said.

"Yes, well," she said absently. "If your mind works like a computer..." Suddenly catching herself, she blushed furiously. "I didn't really mean it, Mr. Spock! I was just... I was..."

Spock smiled softly, knowing she wouldn't see him.

"It is quite all right, Lieutenant," he assured her calmly. "There is only one reason why Vulcans tend not to view such a comparison as a compliment."

"Vulcans don't believe in compliments?" she guessed.

"That, and no one has created a computer as sophisticated as a Vulcan brain yet."

She chuckled.

"What a charmingly enlightened society."

"Thank you," Spock said, reemerging onto the deck. "Test it now."

She frowned, studying the panel.

"I don't think it's working," she said, biting her lip. "The screen has just gone blank."

Spock stood up and looked over her shoulder. "May I?"

"Of course."

He bent over the scanner, making several adjustments.

"It's working!" Kerr exclaimed excitedly. "What did you do?"

"There is an additional regulator here," Spock showed her. "I added it to control the data flow manually. You were unaware of it."

"I'd say," she nodded, looking over the entire Science station. "You modified a lot of this equipment."

Spock followed her gaze thoughtfully, his expression turning slightly wistful.

"I had been manning this station for a very long time," he said, with a strange undercurrent in his tone, which almost sounded like melancholy. "The next Science Officer would probably prefer a more basic configuration."

Kerr looked up at him confused.

"Aren't you coming back?" she asked quietly. "Assuming we get out of this in one piece?"

The corners of Spock's mouth turned upwards, but if it was a smile, it was a sad one.

"I have full confidence in Captain Kirk's ability to bring the crew out of this predicament in one piece," he said. "I do, however, have a... suspicion that the ship will need a new Chief Science Officer after that."

"Why, you're going somewhere?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.

Spock finally looked at her, as if only now realizing he had been talking aloud. He frowned momentarily.

"I prefer we discuss your upcoming away mission," he said. "When you were on board the Legourian vessel, were you able to make an assessment of their computer system?"

"Yes," Kerr nodded grimly. "It's intricate, like a maze. But the worst of it is, it's all interconnected, like one giant brain. We can't destroy the library banks without damaging life support. Scotty will have to rig some kind of bypass, probably a number of them, or else we'd be as well as leaving them to die. I just don't know how much time we'll have."

Spock picked up on the obvious nervousness in her voice.

"Mr. Scott is renowned for working fast when the situation demands it," he said by means of reassuring. "I regret, however, that we will not have more time. If I had had a chance to study their system, I could have created a virus that would have accomplished our goal without additional damage."

Kerr peered over at him curiously.

"Luca mentioned you were an expert in computer viruses. A somewhat strange specialization for a science officer, no?"

Spock's cheeks colored slightly.

"I took an interest in it before I entered the Academy. In fact, before I made the decision to join Starfleet."

She watched him, amused and more intrigued than ever.

"Is it true you were the one responsible for the Case of Diplomats, the process that resulted in about fifty members of the diplomatic corps being discharged?"

Spock stared at her, realizing belatedly his reaction was a giveaway. He tried to back out of it anyway.

"If I recall correctly, the source of the information was never disclosed," he said in his best neutral tone. "This case is twenty-five years old, Lieutenant. I'm surprised you are interested in it."

Kerr grinned. "History of diplomacy is a fascinating read," she said. "And that case always intrigued me. You must have been what, fourteen?"

"I never said it was me, Ms. Kerr."

"You're not that difficult to identify, now that I know certain facts," she said. "Wow. I never thought I'd meet you—I mean, the guy responsible for it. It must have been an incredible time for you."

Spock frowned and looked away, obviously not pleased with the direction the conversation had suddenly assumed. What seemed to Kerr as an intriguing adventure was, in fact, one of the darkest experiences he had had to date. It was also the first time anyone asked him about it or even managed to connect his name with those events. Even if there was a time to revisit the events which ultimately predefined his choice of career, not to mention created the chasm between him and Sarek, now definitely wasn't it.

"It was not... what you think," he said at last. "I would rather we didn't talk about it."

Kerr looked genuinely upset at his apparent discomfort.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Spock, I really shouldn't have said anything. My curiosity sometimes gets the better of me. I didn't mean to... I didn't..." she trailed off helplessly.

"There is no need for an apology," Spock shook his head blandly, still not looking at her. "But I would appreciate if we do not go back to this discussion."

"Of course," she promised instantly. "Forget I brought it up."

He glanced at her, grateful for the distraction her turn of phrase granted him.

"That would not be possible," he intoned evenly. "Vulcans do not forget things."

"Then I suppose there is some reason for this panel to still be open."

Kerr jumped, and Spock very nearly followed her example, checking himself at the last moment. They both turned to look at Kirk, who stood in the inner rim, leaning on the railing. It took a moment for his words to register, and then Spock realized that he had left the panel beneath the Science station open. The Captain was smiling, but Spock stiffened, as he bent down wordlessly to close it.

"We would not have left it open, Captain," Kerr said quietly.

"I know, Lieutenant," Kirk said, and Spock knew he wasn't smiling anymore. "I was merely making sure."

Spock straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back, his face carefully blank. He looked at Kerr, without so much of a shadow of his previous openness, however reserved it might have been.

"If you do not have further requests, Lieutenant, I shall report back to Engineering."

She opened her mouth, but Kirk beat her to an answer.

"Spock, I'd rather you stayed on the Bridge. You'll be Ms. Kerr's backup when she joins the away party."

Spock inclined his head curtly. "As you wish, sir."

Kerr was looking from one to the other, obviously confused. Spock remained impassive as a stone. Kirk was looking decidedly more uncomfortable by the moment. She had no idea what was going on, never mind what she was supposed to do. She glanced over at the Communications station, but Uhura only shrugged mildly. She was frowning, but looked unconcerned. Kerr wished she could share her serenity.

"Captain," Sulu called from his station, breaking the unnerving moment. "I'm detecting a ship closing in at half-impulse."

Kirk stepped back to his chair at once.

"Cardassians or Legourians?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Ms. Kerr?"

She was bent over the screen before he asked. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead as she made the identification. As she straightened to report back and caught Kirk's eye, she realized that somehow he had known the answer already. She nodded at him. The Captain pursed his lips determinedly and turned back towards the screen.

"Here we go."


	13. Thirteen

**Thirteen**

An invisible wave swept over the Bridge as the Legourian vessel crawled slowly into the middle of the viewscreen. With no tangible incentive, everyone sat a little straighter, looked a little more collected. It instantly became quieter as any irrelevant let's-talk-some-stress-away chatter died out, leaving room only for orders and acknowledgements.

Spock didn't think he had ever felt more useless. The moment Red Alert was sounded, he stepped out of the way, further to the right of the Science station, wishing, in defiance to all logic, he had the right to be at his post. He wasn't usually prone to the sense of anxiety and anticipation that preyed on the humans in situations such as this. At the moment though, he found himself regrettably susceptible to both and didn't even have the opportunity to distract himself with the task at hand. He resigned to pulling himself as tightly together as he could, tugging at his poor shielding, and watched the Captain.

That was an allowance Spock didn't afford himself too often, but which now felt strangely appropriate. Kirk's body language, eloquent by design, was something Spock was abundantly familiar with and could read easily. At the moment, the Captain looked composed but ostensibly relaxed, which Spock knew was his way of dealing with internal tension. Starship captains were allowed to be nervous, but they weren't allowed to let the crew see it.

Expressive by nature, Kirk held himself tightly, standing by his chair, one arm laying casually on the armrest, his chin raised, as he stared squarely at the viewscreen. Spock knew that look. He knew he was about to witness yet another round of James Kirk trademark pulling an ace out of his sleeve; an ace that he didn't necessarily have there. The soft gleam of Kirk's eyes turned sharper and more predatory. He regarded the alien vessel like an experienced player would eye the bank. The stakes were sky high, but players of Kirk's caliber didn't recognize lower wagers.

And although he would claim honestly and with conviction till his dying day that he hated being forced to bargain for the lives of his crew, Spock knew that deep down inside, so deep that Kirk himself didn't consciously know it, he enjoyed riding this sharp blade, balancing on the cutting edge, sliding off bleeding but victorious.

Suddenly, as if feeling the eyes upon him, Kirk turned and caught Spock's gaze. For a moment, and for a moment only, their immediate history seemed to vanish, and only the familiar flair of their usual connection ignited the air. Kirk smirked subtly, in a very reserved but unmistakably cocky way. Spock felt his eyebrow crawl up of its own volition. The Captain checked his smirk from turning into a grin and looked away, focusing on the viewscreen once more.

Spock suppressed a sigh, looking at his feet. He still hadn't come to any kind of logical conclusion about the reasons for Kirk's apparent anger with him. Earlier as he was working alone on restoring the sensors, Spock had replayed the conversation in his mind a dozen times, but failed to see a catalyst for Kirk's outburst. He backtracked his own recent actions then, searching for some kind of error he must have made to cause this level of displeasure, but that exercise proved to be just as futile.

Spock knew of course that humans were emotional and oftentimes illogical in their reactions, but James Kirk wasn't just any human. He didn't get angry without a reason. In Spock's experience with him, the more hidden such a reason appeared to be, the more profound it was in the end. Guilt, too, was an emotional reaction, but Spock couldn't help it. No more than he could stop feeling frustrated by his inability to determine his fault.

"They are responding to our hails, Captain," Uhura reported, tugging at her earpiece. "They don't sound very happy about it, though."

Kirk smirked. "They are about to get way more unhappy. On screen."

Everyone looked up to see a familiar by now interior of the Legourian Bridge. The tall alien in front also looked painfully familiar.

"Kirrrrrk!" he clacked, rolling the syllable beyond limit. "Wh't h've y' d'ne to my sh'p?"

"Grrtl'klak," Kirk said casually, pronouncing the name without a hint of trouble. "You missed us already?"

"St'te y'rr 'nt'ntions," the Legourian demanded.

"Gladly. I intend to beam a party aboard your vessel. I intend to destroy every bit of information you've gathered on the Federation. And don't bother denying it, we know what you've been doing and who you're working for. After your computer banks are destroyed, I intend to lock your autopilot on course to Starbase 16 where you will surrender to the Federation authorities. We'd escort you there ourselves, but unfortunately have a previous engagement."

The Legourian actually laughed, which resulted in a series of high-pitched, rather shrill sounds.

"Y'rr sh'p is dis'bl'd, h'man. Y'rr thr'ats are 'mpty."

"Really?" Kirk raised his eyebrows. "Let's test that, shall we? Mr. Chekov."

"Aye, Keptin," the Navigator responded swiftly, pressing his controls.

On the screen, the Legourians squeaked at the sudden shake.

"Now, that was a warning shot," Kirk explained pleasantly. "As you can see, our weapons are operational. I guess you can't say the same of yours?" He paused, giving his opponent the time to answer, but the Legourian merely glared at him. "I thought not," Kirk nodded.

"W' w'll not 'llow y'rr p'rty on bo'rd," Grrtl'klak hissed. "Beam th'm ov'r and th'y are de'd."

"Pity," Kirk said calmly. "Because if when I beam my people over you do anything other than stand aside and let them do what they came for, I'll destroy your ship and kill everyone aboard."

There was a moment of stunned silence, as the two captains locked gazes over the space separating them.

"Y'u w'n't do th't," Grrtl'klak said at last. "Y'rr St'rrfle't pr'hibits such me'sur's."

"Thanks to you we're not in Starfleet anymore," Kirk snapped, and his demeanor changed completely. Gone was the pleasant conversationalist, his place was taken by a ruthless commander. "Who's going to stop me? You've made us outlaws, you and your merry gang of so called diplomats. You've been spying on us for months, you intended to sell us out to your new buddies the Cardassians, you fired at my ship, which is a declaration of war by Federation laws! You tortured and nearly killed my First Officer, and if you think that I'll let you get away with that, you're grossly mistaken!"

Blood rushed to Spock's face before he managed to prevent it from showing, and he bowed his head in an attempt to hide it. He knew that it wasn't personal, that it was merely a point to make, but the words stabbed through him anyway, making him feel... he didn't know what exactly. He was deeply embarrassed by letting on so much, and felt absurdly grateful that the Captain was too busy to look his way.

"Y'u w'll n't c'mmit murd'rr!" the Legourian blurted out, very disturbed by now.

"Watch me," Kirk said. "You're defenseless. One good shot will probably do it. Your friends seem to be late, and even if they weren't I doubt they'd give a damn about your skins. They blew up your station, by the way, did you know that?"

"Y'u c'n't—"

"I can do whatever the hell I want," Kirk cut him off resolutely. "If I destroy your ship, no one will even know. And frankly, blowing up your ship is less trouble than beaming over a boarding party. It's your call."

There was another pause, as the Legourian tried desperately to see through Kirk's words. Odd as it might have been, but for a moment, Spock felt something akin to sympathy towards the bird-like alien. Spock had known James Kirk for a long time now, knew his tricks, his strategies, knew how his mind worked, and yet, with all that knowledge, he couldn't tell, couldn't say with any kind of certainty that the Captain was bluffing, that he wouldn't give the order to fire. Despite knowing that Kirk hadn't given up on Starfleet, that he stayed true to his principles and wasn't the kind of man who thrived on bloodshed, Spock couldn't vouch for the fact that Kirk wouldn't execute his threat.

This ability to create such a perfect poker face was something that had always enthralled Spock, fascinated and alarmed him at the same time. He wasn't the only one who fell under that spell. He knew that should the Captain give the order now, there wouldn't be a single person on board who'd disobey it. They were all looking at him now, enchanted, thrilled, scared and barely containing their excitement. Spock gave up on trying to control his own, and held his breath, awaiting the resolution.

"Perhaps you don't understand what your choices are," Kirk said, switching back to casual conversation. "Let me try to get this through to you. Either you do everything I say, surrender for inspection and then get to Starbase 16 for processing, or you stay here and wait till the Cardassians show up and blow your ship to pieces. There's apparently one definite setback in being their middle man—they don't like to leave any bridges intact behind them. The Federation, on the other hand, doesn't practice capital punishment. I'm giving you a chance to live, but my patience is at an end. Take it or leave it."

Spock knew they had won when the Legourian's crest expanded dramatically and then fell just as swiftly.

"W' w'it f'r y'rr p'rrrty," he hissed in the end.

"Glad you decided to see reason," Kirk gave him a thin smile. "Oh, and one other thing? That Cardassian you're carrying? I want him."

"But—"

"Mr. Chekov," Kirk intoned menacingly.

"No, w'it!" the Legourian shouted. "T'ke him."

"A wise decision," Kirk nodded, turning to Uhura. "Maintain visual, Lieutenant, but cut audio. Ms. Kerr, you and Mr. Scott get over there and blast every information bank they have. Strip search the bulkheads if you have to, but no piece of that data should stay in their hands, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Kerr nodded and headed for the turbolift.

"Lieutenant," Kirk called after her. "Don't forget to take a Security detail with you. And watch your back."

"Aye, sir."

Kirk watched her disappearing into the turbolift, then turned to Chekov. "Ensign, maintain weapons lock at all times. I don't want anyone there getting any ideas."

"Yes, Keptin."

"Spock." Kirk came over towards him. Lowering his voice, he asked evenly, "What do you need?"

Spock knew what this was about.

"I would recommend beaming him directly to the brig, sir," he said, just as quietly. "And I need it to be empty of personnel, Security or otherwise. I also need all surveillance to be turned off for as long as I am there."

Kirk glanced up at him sharply.

"Spock, just what do you plan to do?"

The Vulcan pursed his lips. "I intend to have a civilized conversation, Captain. Nothing more."

The Captain continued his silent scrutiny, and Spock forced himself to meet his eyes calmly. Finally, Kirk nodded.

"Go ahead. If you need any help—"

"Thank you, Captain. I believe I will manage."

"That's not what I meant, Spock," Kirk said softly. "Will you be all right talking to him after what he—"

"I will be fine, sir," Spock interrupted firmly. "There is no need for concern."

He turned around and walked stiffly towards the turbolift, feeling a speculative gaze following him all the way. He willed his reaction down determinedly. The encounter promised to be hard enough as it was. As the doors closed behind him, Spock closed his eyes, trying to still himself. He felt not unlike a marathon runner who had just entered his 42nd kilometer. It was a straight line from now on. And however hard the last meters would be, the notion that they were indeed the last should be sufficient to keep him going.

* * *

He was cold.

Dutifully, Spock reminded himself that it was illogical. The ship's ambient temperature was no lower than usual, and neither was it in the detention area. But strangely, the thought didn't help the goose bumps that erupted on his skin, nor the nauseating sensation of snakes nesting in his stomach. Spock wished he could just screen out the physical sensations as he used to when his barriers were intact, but it proved to be an impossibility. The feeling was distracting, and he had to redouble his effort to maintain his focus. So far, he was in control.

He was of two minds of what awaited him. From his knowledge of emotions and psychological repercussions of torture, he expected to experience some trepidation, revulsion, even fear. He waited for the emotions to come, planning on the ways of dealing with them, but they never did. Instead, there was a strong physical reaction. Each step he took on his way to the brig brought new awareness to his body.

It wasn't pain exactly. It felt more as if the tension and apprehension he was experiencing had chosen to manifest themselves physically rather than emotionally. His vision was painfully clear, as if someone had made him wear glasses while his eyesight was perfect already. The sounds came sharper; the echo of his own steps penetrated his skin like miniscule knives. His skin felt cool, almost freezing, as if he walked through an ice cave naked.

That was perhaps the strongest of the sensations. Nakedness. Total, complete exposure. Vulnerability. Shame.

He knew what he was doing. From the moment he had that stroke of inspiration, he knew there would be no way back. He had to do it, it was his duty. He owed it to every man and woman aboard the _Enterprise_. He owed it to the Federation. To Starfleet. To Earth and Vulcan, and all the other worlds.

He wasn't as good a player as Kirk. To this day, he hadn't learned how to bluff, how to squeeze a win out of a no-win situation. But fortunately, sometimes it was possible to buy a win, and he was certain he had just about enough to purchase this one.

Spock strode along the empty corridor leading to the brig and entered, feeling a familiar unpleasant tingling on the back of his neck. He walked straight towards the only occupied cell, the occupant of which had already risen to meet his visitor.

"Commander!" An exclamation of pure joy. "How delightful it is to see you! How very thoughtful of you to come and see an old friend."

Spock studied the smiling face impassively, coming to a stop in front of the cell and folding his arms behind his back. The Cardassian's appearance was ominous. Grey skin, forceful facial ridges, broad muscular figure, jet black hair. The face held the immediate intrigue by hosting a pair of stunningly bright blue eyes, more clear and colorful than any human could dream of getting. The eyes were smiling at Spock with compelling sincerity. The prisoner obviously felt more at home here than anyone else would.

"You look somewhat tense, Commander," the Cardassian's voice was now soaking with concern. "Is something the matter?"

Spock couldn't help but admire to a degree the man's audacity and the relaxed self-assured poise with which he held himself.

"Perhaps this environment is distressing you?" the prisoner suggested thoughtfully, looking around with a mild grimace of disdain. "I must say, whoever decorated this... locale has very poor taste. But then, I have learned that humans have a poor sense of aesthetics in general. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Spock?"

"I am not here to discuss the décor," Spock said, a little surprised at how hollow his voice sounded.

The Cardassian almost beamed.

"Why, of course not, my dear friend, of course not! I suspect we have much more interesting subjects to discuss, don't we? I must say I was very disappointed to be suddenly deprived of your company. We were only just getting to the good part."

Spock looked up at him sharply, and the prisoner subsided, but didn't quite look taken aback. If anything, he seemed impressed.

"Such admirable resilience," he muttered as if to himself. "Is it just you, or is it a hereditary trait of your species? And what power do humans possess to have you as their subordinate?" He straightened up as if catching himself staring. "Sorry. Was there something you wanted to ask me?"

Spock looked at him for another moment, then reached for the controls and made the forcefield drop. He handed the Cardassian a padd he had brought with him and switched the invisible restrictive shield back in place.

"Oh, you wound me, Mr. Spock. Did you believe I would voluntarily leave your company?"

Spock clasped his hands behind his back, steadying himself.

"For the contents of this," he spoke quietly, "I can guarantee your life and your safe return to your vessel."

"You do, do you?" the Cardassian arched his eyebrows in wry amusement. "Let's see." He scanned the contents of the padd quickly, chuckling softly once or twice. He glanced up at Spock with newfound interest. "Mr. Spock, if I am to share this information with you, my life will be forfeit at the very moment of my 'safe return' to my ship. That is not a currency, merely a set of preliminary conditions, which if not met make the deal impossible. We both know my life is safe on a Starfleet vessel, and I'd rather stay here and deal with your benevolent Starfleet officials, than with my not quite so benevolent compatriots. In my line of work, Mr. Spock, mistakes are not forgiven."

"I can make it worth your while," Spock said. "For you will not be returning empty handed."

"Oh?"

Spock regarded him pensively, as if weighing his opponent carefully in his mind.

"During our previous encounter, you asked me a question," he said. "If you meet my conditions, I am prepared to give you an answer."

The Cardassian's eyes glinted, but he wasn't in a hurry to agree.

"Mr. Spock, you strike me as a man of intellect," he intoned fluidly. "So please don't let my next inquiry leave you with the false impression of my questioning it. I'm merely trying to make certain we understand each other. You do know what you're answering my question will imply?"

"Indeed," Spock nodded gravely. "I believe I understand perfectly."

The Cardassian measured him up with a gaze that missed little.

"And why would you be motivated to submit now, when you showed such unbending stubbornness before?"

Spock lifted an eyebrow. "If I said I have picked up some of your civility?"

The Cardassian chuckled. "I would be flattered, Mr. Spock. But I would also be foolish to believe you."

Spock shrugged mildly.

"In that case, suffice it to say that I am less impartial to the fate of this ship and crew than the rest of the fleet."

"Particularly bearing in mind that you believe that by the time I will have your answer the rest of the fleet will have been alerted?"

"Indeed. However, it would not completely devalue my answer."

"Oh no, far from that. But personal repercussions for you would be most... unpleasant."

"Everything has its setbacks. My offer stands. Are you interested?"

"You are so straightforward," the Cardassian smiled. "I admire your integrity. The thought that I may have shattered it caused me great suffering, believe me, Mr. Spock. I am grateful that we were able to reach a civilized agreement."

"We do have an agreement then?"

"Almost. I would need a small token of good will, before I provide you with the information required."

"And that is?"

"You word, Commander Spock. Your word that you will go through with this. Till the end."

Spock looked at him calmly.

"You have my word," he said solemnly. "You have my word that after we complete our mission aboard your vessel and the information is transferred safely to the _Enterprise_, I will give you my answer."

They shared a long look, which Spock endured with complete indifference and a good measure of openness. He had made his decision and wasn't inclined to hide it. This Cardassian was the master of interrogation, after all. A fact to which Spock could personally attest. He should be able to recognize the truth when he heard it.

"Very well," the Cardassian smiled softly. "Give me a few minutes and I will provide you with the information you need. I'm really looking forward to getting this over with. You and I have shared something special, Mr. Spock. I eagerly await the deepening of our... friendship."

Spock couldn't quite stifle the shiver that ran through him at these words.

* * *

Kirk listened to Kerr's report, frowning, but keeping himself tightly in check. She and Scott had only just returned from the Legourian vessel, and Kirk ordered a quick debriefing. His concentration was perfect, if anything, even too much so. This was the kind of crisis he had never faced before in his career, and it strangely depressed and invigorated him at the same time. He thrived on challenges and yet knew abundantly well that this time he had probably bitten off more than he could chew. He had never alienated two different species and Starfleet at the same time before.

Still, he wasn't quite ready to accept defeat yet. Maybe that was the reason why he avoided asking Spock about their odds.

"Bottom line, Lieutenant," Kirk said, thinking that she looked tired enough for three people.

"We eliminated everything that had information storage capacity," she replied steadily. "They're clean."

"And heading home I presume, Mr. Scott, instead of following the course you kindly set for them?"

The Engineer nodded succinctly. "Aye, they'll try that most likely. But they won't get very far, not with their engines in this condition. And if they try to play with autopilot controls, they'd be dead in the water."

"Any trouble while you were on board?"

Scott and Kerr shared a glance.

"No, Captain," Scott shook his head.

"Not unless you're counting all the noise they made," Kerr added dryly.

"Good work," Kirk said, trying and failing to summon enough reserve for an approving smile. He sighed. "Bones, maybe you should deliver some stimulants."

McCoy peered over at him, none too happy with the suggestion.

"How long do you think you can take this stuff?" he asked grumpily. "Any more and I'll have to treat you for addiction. Not to mention for kidney failure."

"I didn't exactly plan any of this," Kirk snapped sharply. Then he shook his head, running a hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm just—"

"Tired," McCoy finished grudgingly. "Yeah, all right. Whatever you—"

The briefing room doors swooshed open, cutting him off effectively. Spock walked in, and if the overall exhaustion was taking any toll on him, it didn't show. He walked straight over to Kirk and handed him a padd. Kirk looked over it quickly.

"This is accurate?" he asked, scanning the contents.

"Yes, sir," Spock confirmed, retreating somewhat and stopping only as he passed McCoy's chair.

"Shield frequency, ETA, sensor blackout windows, command codes," Kirk read off in a continuously disbelieving voice. "Everything but his homeworld coordinates." He looked up at Spock incredulously. "Do you think we can trust him on this?"

Spock inclined his head softly. "It is my understanding that he decided to cooperate. Logically, it is in his best interest. If he stays on the _Enterprise_, he would either perish in the attack with us, or be taken prisoner by Starfleet. I guaranteed that we will return him to his ship."

"Now wait a damn minute!" McCoy exclaimed. "We'll be returning him—after what he did to you? Just like that, giving him a free ride and stocking him up with candies for it to pass better? What the hell kind of strategy is that?"

"The one that gets us what we want, Doctor," Spock replied coolly.

Kirk contemplated him for a moment, overcome by some as of yet unclear suspicion.

"Spock," he began quietly. "Tell me how it works."

"Yes, sir," Spock said, looking at anyone but the Captain. "When the Cardassians arrive, we beam over a swift and mobile party, no more than two persons. And of course, our guest. With the data he provided, we will have approximately six minutes to access the database, download the logs and return to the _Enterprise_. Our guest will have to be incapacitated before the away team is to return, so that he will be unable to raise the alarm immediately. I recommend the _Enterprise_ then proceed to Starbase 16 with all due expediency to present our evidence."

"And get away from our new friends there," Scott added.

"Correct," Spock nodded at him. "That is essentially the plan, Captain."

"Sounds reasonable," Kirk said, still watching the Vulcan in strange thoughtfulness. "You keep saying 'we' there. I take it you intend to be in the away team?"

"I am the logical choice," Spock said, a little too quickly. "To send a computer specialist seems to be appropriate. In addition, I am the one who knows our Cardassian guest best."

"Only you would put it this way," McCoy said, staring at him. "Spock, have you developed some kind of Stockholm syndrome towards that bastard?"

Spock looked at him as if he'd just seen something particularly distasteful.

"One day, Doctor, you will actually learn that Vulcans aren't prone to most psychological conditions indigenous to humans. I do not hold any kind of sympathy or affection towards my interrogator, no. It is true, however, that as I am the only one who has been in contact with him I am most familiar with him." He looked over at Kirk briefly. "As I said, Captain, I am the logical choice. Perhaps Ms. Kerr could join me, as she appears to have considerable expertise with computers as well."

Kerr blushed, but nodded.

"I can do it, sir."

Kirk didn't react to her words, continuing his scrutiny of the Vulcan. There was a beat of slightly perplexed silence, and then the Captain shifted his focus, glancing around the room.

"Gentlemen, Lieutenant, I would like a word with Mr. Spock alone."

Spock tensed and looked over at him in alarm, before quickly willing the reaction away. Scott and Kerr stood up immediately, while McCoy hesitated, giving Kirk a quizzical look. The Captain nodded at him subtly, and McCoy followed the others out, uncharacteristically, without a word.

"All right, Spock," Kirk said after the doors closed once again. "Out with it."

"Captain?"

Kirk suppressed a sigh. Spock was feigning confusion, but not very masterfully. It didn't help the impression any that he was staring at the surface of the table as if it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

"I want to hear the real terms of your agreement," the Captain said, adding severity to his tone. "This needs to happen right now."

Spock glanced at him curtly. "I do not understand, sir. I have stated the terms—"

"Spock," Kirk cut him off firmly. "Can't you see that this isn't working? Do you honestly expect me to believe that he has given you all this," he nodded at the padd, "for mere safe passage home? Do you really think I'm that gullible?"

"Captain, I have stated no such thing. But you are overestimating the value of this information. The moment he regains consciousness, the codes will be changed, as well as shield frequency. The same applies to his suggested technique of fooling the internal sensors. Six minutes is barely enough time to find the most recent logs in the database, therefore I am certain we will not have the opportunity to take a glimpse of anything else. No, sir," Spock shook his head with conviction. "He is not giving us anything of long-term strategic value. Merely a means to conclude this one mission. Certainly, for his life and freedom it is a small price to pay."

"He must value his life pretty high if you ask me," Kirk said. "Or believe that his friends over there are all forgiving and understanding. Which doesn't exactly fit, given what they did to that space station."

Spock pursed his lips, his expression turning closed and stubborn.

"I do not know what he believes, Captain. But those are the conditions I offered and the ones he agreed to."

Kirk stared at him speculatively for a long moment, then jerked his chin up defiantly.

"I don't believe you."

Spock's expression hardened further.

"Are you suggesting that I am lying?"

"I'm suggesting you're concealing something, yes," Kirk said, taking a step towards him. "And neither of us will leave this room before I find out what it is."

Spock tilted his head slightly.

"Captain, I realize that you are dissatisfied with my performance as of late. However, I cannot believe you would consider it reason enough to put the only viable course of action in jeopardy because of this. Need I remind you what is at stake here? It is not only the good name of the _Enterprise_ crew and their lives. It is risking an invasion from a technologically advanced species."

"Thank you for the lecture, but if you hoped you'd distract me enough to get off the point, you're wrong. The truth, Spock. Now."

"I have already told you the truth."

"A part of it, yes. I want the other part."

He advanced some more, and Spock stepped back, apparently without noticing.

"Your request is illogical."

"So is your stubbornness. I'd tell you that it's mutiny, but it never stopped you in the past."

"I do not know what you are talking about."

"I think you do." Kirk stopped a foot away from the Vulcan, who could now feel the wall behind his back. It was time to change tacks. "Very well, Mr. Spock. I'll know your secret anyway. Lieutenant Kerr won't be joining you on the boarding party. I will."

Spock straightened up, startled.

"Sir, I—I see no reason for you to—"

"You don't need another computer specialist along," Kirk snapped impatiently. "With the codes at hand, you won't need anybody's help getting to those logs. But you will need someone to watch your back."

Spock thought quickly, Kirk had to give him that.

"Very well, sir. In that case, it would be prudent to take someone from Security."

"What's the matter, Spock? Don't you trust me?"

"It is not a matter of trust, Captain. We are in a precarious situation. Your place is on the Bridge of your ship."

"Are you now telling me my place, Mr. Spock?"

"Captain—"

"We actually don't have time for this. According to this data, the Cardassians can turn up any minute now."

"That is why you need to stay on board, sir," Spock said earnestly, with more fervor than Kirk had ever heard him use in a professional argument. He was now the one advancing. "A confrontation of some kind is inevitable. Given the state of our engines, Mr. Scott will not be able to leave Engineering for any considerable amount of time, certainly not in battle. There is no one else on board as experienced in command as you are, and right now it is vital."

Kirk paused, weighing in Spock's almost frantic expression, and then went for the kill.

"Actually, there is," he said, almost lamely. "You are forgetting about your friend, Captain Radek."

Spock was stunned.

_Check_, Kirk thought with a certain sense of satisfaction. _Go ahead, Spock. Weasel out of that one._

"You would..." Spock actually stuttered, looking openly incredulous. "You would leave your ship to Captain Radek?"

"Why not?" Kirk asked calmly. "According to his file, he's a capable commander. They don't promote just anyone to captain, Mr. Spock. I'm not above acknowledging that there are other people competent enough to command a starship out there."

"You accused him of treason."

"I may have been wrong. You trust him, don't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"Scotty trusts him, too. And neither of you, Mr. Spock, trusts people easily. Besides, I simply can't believe he'd risk so many lives willingly."

"Sir, I... I..."

_Got you_, Kirk thought triumphantly, without allowing it to show. Spock now looked absolutely panicked.

"While I agree that Captain Radek is a capable commander," Spock said finally, "you should not be risking your life on an expedition such as this when there is no logical reason for you to go."

"Oh, but there is," Kirk drawled softly, letting a small smile curve his lips. "No one knows you better than I do, Spock. You've shown a remarkable tendency to get into trouble lately. Someone needs to watch over you."

It appeared to be a checkmate. Kirk grinned and was about to offer Spock his usual consolation on the illogical style of his play, when the intercom whistled. The Captain turned back towards the table and bent over it, reaching for the button.

"Kirk here."

"Lieutenant Kerr, sir. Sensors are picking up some kind of disturbance in the nebula. It's too early to tell yet, but I believe it might be the Cardassian ship."

"Acknowledged, Lieutenant. I'm on my way. Kirk out." He turned around halfway, only to find Spock standing very close to him. Kirk forced his smile to return, ignoring the sudden hitch in his breath. "Well, Mr. Spock. It appears our time for arguing has been cut a little short."

"So it would seem, Jim," Spock nodded pensively, locking their eyes with an intensity Kirk hadn't seen before. "You appear to be... a little nervous."

Kirk grinned, trying to shake off the weird sensation. Now was hardly the time, but Spock was standing too close, compared to the hostile distance of the last week, and it was hard not to wish to revel in this suddenly returned warmth for just a little while.

"I suppose I am," the Captain said softly. "This is the biggest game we've ever played, Spock," he admitted gravely. "If we lose..."

"You are not made for losing, Jim," Spock favored him with a mild smile. He placed his hand on Kirk's arm lightly, a mute expression of support. "It is unlike you to have your confidence wavering."

"It's not exactly wavering," Kirk shook his head, leaning into the touch just a little. At least he hoped it was a little. He really shouldn't be indulging thus, but he couldn't help himself. Spock so rarely touched him of his own volition. And it was even more unexpected now, when by all accounts, the Vulcan should be offended by Kirk's previous behavior. That icy silence on the Bridge... Spock was such a forgiving friend... "It's just that I've never been declared an outlaw by my own people before."

The touch lingered, spreading warmth, expanding, and turning inadvertently from a simple gesture of support to an enticing caress, working on the taut muscles gently, soothing, calming, climbing up...

Kirk didn't know what saved him. Perhaps it was some deep-rooted instinct, warning about the danger, or maybe a particularly canny outbreak of intuition, but it was certainly nothing Spock did. Oh no, the Vulcan had staged his counter-gambit perfectly. Apparently though, while Vulcans were generally faster than humans, Vulcans with a guilty conscience weren't.

Leaning against the wall, panting, one arm outstretched forward instinctively, Kirk stared at Spock wide-eyed, unable to assimilate what had just happened. Thoughts and questions collided in his mind with breathtaking speed, hardly giving him enough time to process them.

How desperate was Spock not to have him along if he was ready to put his Captain out of action physically? _Why?_ What was so important? What was it that he wanted to hide from Kirk at this cost? Never mind the method he chose to get there, and speaking of which—since when was _Spock_ of all people so goddamn good at this? Wasn't it supposed to be his, Kirk's, area of expertise? And it almost worked, too, it came this close—_this close_ to working. Another moment, another second of that exquisite pressure, and Kirk would have been an unconscious heap at Spock's feet, and then God only knew what would have happened.

He stared at Spock helplessly, astonishment, embarrassment, and outrage all making him reel. And Spock looked... Oh, he looked guilty, all right. But guilt paled in comparison with his obvious regret at not having succeeded. He looked guilty, ashamed, desperate, remorseful, and so very, very pained, as if he was slowly sinking into a pool of acid. If it wasn't for that expression of pure agony, Kirk would have probably hated him right there and then. But seeing that tortured look, he simply couldn't bring himself to feel it.

He knew Spock well enough to be certain of his motives, appalling as his actions were. Spock was trying to protect him from something. The question was, from what?

"Nice try," Kirk let out breathlessly. "And I'd charge you with mutiny, but we don't have time for this right now."

"Captain, I'm—"

"Shut up, Spock," he snapped, straightening up. "Shut up and listen. You know what's at stake here. So here's one other fact for you to consider: This mission will fail without you. The only way I'll allow you to proceed is if I'm coming with you. What just happened here gives me a pretty good idea of what you bargained with, with that son of a bitch, so you can forget about this cozy little plan of yours to leave me behind. That _you_ would do this..." He swallowed and pushed the emotion down roughly, while Spock looked away as if struck. Kirk squared his shoulders. "We both go and give us all a fighting chance to get out of this mess. Or we both stay and we all lose. It's your call, and for the love of God, make it quick."

Something in the way Spock bowed his head left Kirk with the persistent impression that he hadn't won this match yet. But at least, the Mittelspiel was over, and he had the apparent advantage. And if he was feeling like he'd been kicked in the guts when he had least expected it, well, he could deal with this later.

"Very well, sir," Spock said quietly. "We both go."

Kirk smirked, in a mirthless, menacing kind of way. That wasn't quite a victory, oh no. He wouldn't be making this mistake twice. But this wasn't defeat either, not just yet, and it was slightly reassuring.

"A wise decision, Mr. Spock. After you."


	14. Fourteen

**Fourteen**

"Captain Radek, I'm placing you in operational command of this vessel effective immediately," Kirk blurted out the moment he walked into Radek's quarters.

Radek looked up at him from his desk, obvious surprise on his face.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm joining the boarding party to the Cardassian ship," Kirk said, slowing down the rhythm of his speech a little and eyeing his vis-à-vis intently. "Mr. Scott needs to stay in Engineering at all times, and of all the other officers currently available, you're the most experienced one."

Radek stood up slowly, staring at Kirk in disbelief. "You would entrust me with your ship?"

"I checked your record," Kirk said, a bit impatiently. "I've been witness to your recent actions so I know you have no problems with decision making, and however much I may not like them personally, they were strategically sound. You familiarized yourself with my crew remarkably quickly, and Mr. Scott will support you; I've cleared it with him. You worked together before, didn't you?"

"We did."

"Good. You are to wait until our mission is complete before taking any action," Kirk said. "But if anything goes wrong, if you are discovered, if you are attacked, I want you to take the _Enterprise_ further into the nebula, find the Purple Corridor and get the hell out of here."

"That will leave you stranded."

"That's not your concern. Can I count on you to bring my crew to safety?"

Radek looked at him for an indefinitely long moment, then replied quietly, "I will do everything within my power to do so, Captain Kirk."

Kirk felt hard pressed to feel enthusiastic about it, and he knew it must have been showing on his face, but he couldn't help it. He hoped Radek wouldn't call him on that, because he felt bad enough as it was, without another round of the 'size matters' contest.

"Good," he nodded curtly, turning to leave. "I'll make a ship-wide announcement and enter it into the logs."

"Captain," Radek stopped him. "May I ask why you're doing this? It's clear that you don't trust me. It's also clear how you feel about your ship, you might not believe it, but I do understand. How can you leave it at a time like this?"

Kirk frowned, looking at him gloomily.

"You're right, I don't trust you—on a personal level. But my feelings don't change the fact that you're the best man for the job in my absence."

"Why, thank you. But—"

"That wasn't a compliment. I know what you had to do to earn a command of your own."

"Still," Radek looked positively perplexed. "If it was my ship, I can't imagine I'd be going."

Kirk pursed his lips, his jaw line hardening painfully.

"I can't be in two places at once," he said grimly. "Of the two things that are most dear to me, I have to choose one. I didn't make this choice lightly, but I made it. It comes in handy that you weren't mentioned in that order from Starfleet. If things get tough, you can give this crew the legal credibility which they lack under my command at the moment. You can protect them from being held responsible for whatever wrongdoing we're being held accountable for. I can't. I have to do what is best for them."

"But it's killing you," Radek noted softly.

"They're my crew," Kirk said. "Abandoning them for their own sake, I'm still abandoning them. This will never feel right."

"Then why do it? What's so important that—" he cut himself off mid-word, staring at Kirk in stunned realization. "Spock," he stated incredulously, but not really making it a question. "Captain, I had no idea."

"I'm pretty sure you still don't," Kirk snapped. "I'm doing what's best for my people. For _all _of my people." He looked at Radek, with the ferocity of a desperate man. "Take care of them."

The other captain inclined his head solemnly. "I will. Good hunting."

Kirk nodded curtly. "Good luck."

He turned on his heel abruptly and left, cutting the conversation short. His lips and tongue were itching with all the instructions he wanted to give, with all the considerations that needed to be heeded, with all the big and little details that had to be kept in mind. He made himself leave before he could start, for he knew he wouldn't be able to stop if he did; and eventually he wouldn't be able to leave at all.

"Jim, wait up!"

Kirk grimaced, but slowed his step, allowing his CMO to catch up with him.

"What is it, Doctor?"

"That was going to be my question," McCoy hissed, pulling him aside. "You're leaving? Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

"I'm not leaving, Bones, I'm going on an away mission," Kirk said crisply. "If all goes well, I'll be back before you know it."

"You're kidding me, right?" McCoy snorted humorlessly. "If all goes well, my ass. Nothing has gone well here since the moment you decided to divert to Starbase 16! In fact, everything has been going so steadily unwell, that I can't come up with anything that could top it—but I'm pretty sure this idea of yours comes damn close."

"Hell, Bones, don't you see?" Kirk snapped, whirling him around and pushing him into a deserted gangway. "If something goes wrong with the Cardassians, he's your only chance with Starfleet! Do you know what an outlaw status means? As long as he's in command, there's a chance they'll talk first and shoot later."

"Dammit, Jim, this is a mistake!"

"Bones, getting this proof is our only chance to redeem ourselves. If we fail, I can't protect you. He can."

"But will he?" McCoy tilted his chin up stubbornly. "It's one hell of a long way from accusing him of treason to giving him command of your ship, Jim, and you seem to have crossed it in the blink of an eye!"

Kirk sighed, somewhat impatiently.

"I might have judged him a little impulsively back then," he admitted reluctantly. "If he were a traitor, I'm sure he'd come up with a more convincing tale than the one he fed us."

"Then why did you confine him?"

Kirk looked away, pursing his lips, his expression hardening.

"I acted on impulse."

"Personal or professional?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Bones! Can't you put away your scalpel for one minute? This isn't about Spock."

"That's what I've been trying to get through your head for weeks now!"

"Then you have succeeded. Congratulations, can I pass now?"

"Jim, that's no laughing matter."

"Nobody's laughing, Doctor. What's your concern?"

"Well, to be honest, Jim, you're acting..." McCoy hesitated, then continued reluctantly, "out of character."

"Out of character?" Kirk stared at him. "Bones, I'm doing my absolute best to protect my ship, my crew, and the Federation. How out of character is that?"

His CMO was obviously squirming, which alerted Kirk to his extreme discomfort. Whatever was bothering him had to be something big.

"The thing is, Jim, there is... well, M'Benga believes there's some kind of... mental affinity between you and Spock. My concern is that Spock may be... meddling with your decisions. Not that he'd want to," McCoy added hastily. "But he isn't exactly in his right mind right now."

To his utter surprise, Kirk smiled, though somewhat bitterly.

"Mind control, is that what you suspect?"

"Well... yes."

Kirk patted him on the shoulder lightly. "You can relax, Doctor. As it turns out, when Spock wants to meddle with my decisions, he doesn't need to exert himself with mind control."

He walked past the extremely confused Doctor, heading for the Bridge.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Jim?"

Kirk halted, turned around and fixed him with a steady gaze.

"No one tampers with my decisions, Doctor," he said firmly. "No one. I'll see you when I get back."

"If you get back," McCoy muttered sourly. "Why does it always have to be an 'if,' Jim?"

This time, however, Kirk chose to ignore him.

* * *

It never rains, it pours.

When Spock was a child, that statement had always confused him. His mother loved to repeat it for some reason, quite often while referring to most disturbing occurrences. As it rarely rained on Vulcan, and each time it happened was considered sufficient cause for a celebration, the negative subtext of the saying had been eluding Spock for quite some time. At the moment, however, he thought he understood it perfectly.

His carefully constructed, precisely measured plan was falling to pieces before his eyes, and he could do nothing more than observe it. Little by little, the whole structure was deteriorating, and he tried to do some hasty patch-up work, but it was happening too fast. And then, the last blow came to smash the whole construction to shards.

He knew precisely what he had bargained for. A Starfleet commander, as a source of information, he was no less valuable than the dossier the Legourians were supposed to trade. The dossier they destroyed. The Cardassian wouldn't go back on their agreement, because he still very much needed Spock's cooperation. The one thing that no amount of pain, telepathic or physical, could ensure.

That was an equitable trade, Spock knew, one that could and did provide them with what they wanted. Being on board the Cardassian vessel now, working as swiftly as he could to gain access to the logs, he had the proof of his correct evaluation literally under his hands.

"Hurry up, Spock, if you can."

A whisper in his ear. A hand on his shoulder. It retreated immediately, but he had to fight to stifle a groan of desperation, feeling the barriers he'd been trying to shatter reassert themselves.

He had, of course, no intention of supplying the enemy with information. That was why the moment he reached the deal with their captive Cardassian, Spock had started to slowly let go of his control.

From the moment he had come out of the Healing Trance in Sick Bay, it was a struggle. An every day, every minute struggle to maintain order within his mind, to restore the controlling mechanisms, to regain full command of his mind and emotions. It would have been a formidable struggle at any rate, but with his shields down, with so many people intruding on the inner processes of his mind, it became a bloody and excruciating battle. And the only short respites he had taken came not during his hours of sleep, but when he was alone with the Captain.

Spock had no explanation for it, not even a working theory. As he had no time to analyze it, he had simply acknowledged the fact. It was classified as a positive factor at first. When he was with Jim, and there was no one else around, the control came easier, reasserting itself in leaps and bounds, almost without Spock's conscious effort. It was amazingly therapeutic. It would have undoubtedly helped him to heal.

Only now he didn't want to.

There was only one way to fulfill the terms of his agreement with the Cardassian and not betray his oath to Starfleet at the same time. He had to make his mind available, but useless. And as at the moment, keeping himself together was much harder than sliding back to helpless insanity, it seemed not only a logical, but also a technically easy solution. Of course, he would not enjoy relinquishing control and letting his own emotions consume him, but there was another axiom he had learned as a child, this time from his father, and he understood and believed in it ever since.

_The __need of the many outweighs the need of the few. _

Simple. Logical. Effective.

And completely not working, because the Captain was with him now.

Spock thought he should have foreseen it, but he didn't know how. In his wildest assumptions, he could not envision that the Captain would decide to leave his ship in a time of crisis in favor of an away mission, which absolutely didn't require his presence. There was no logic in that, and Spock could think of no emotion that could have propelled that decision, either.

James Kirk placed nothing higher than the well-being of his ship and crew. Nothing. It wasn't every mission that he considered so vital that it would justify the risk his people were taking. It wasn't every mission at all. Spock had considered briefly the possibility of their crew being better protected, at least from Starfleet, under Luca's command, and there was undeniable reason in that. But if he, Spock, was feeling this enormous weight of frustration at not being there for his crewmates at a time like this, the Captain must be going through hell.

Spock finally managed to tie in to the ship's records system, without triggering any alarms. But even as he searched through the database for the logs they needed, his mind was preoccupied with his other dilemma.

How was he to convince the Captain to leave him here? Assuming that his departure would finally allow the rest of Spock's plan to come in motion. He needed a partner for this mission exactly so that he could order them back to the _Enterprise_ when the download was complete. Somehow, Spock had no delusions about James T. Kirk following his orders or buying another subterfuge.

Spock needed a new plan. The problem was, he didn't have any time to come up with one.

"I found it," he said, a bit absently. "Recording the log entries."

"How long?" Kirk's voice came from behind.

"Approximately one minute forty seconds."

"How do we let the _Enterprise_ know we're done?"

"We don't. They are to wait for the escape pod to reach them, provided they are not discovered."

"Brilliant," Kirk grunted. "What can possibly go wrong?"

"Captain." Spock dared a look across his shoulder. "Perhaps you should check discreetly if the route to the escape pods is free, while I complete the download—"

"Leave you here alone? Not a chance. I don't trust you, Spock."

"Then why are you here?"

"Shouldn't it be self-evident by now?"

Spock glanced at the unconscious Cardassian who brought them there. For a moment, the absolute absurdity of his position of having his enemy trust him but not his captain struck him numb. They both had good reason for their respective attitudes.

The Cardassian wasn't supposed to be put out of action just yet, but that was another unexpected, but not totally unpredictable consequence of having James Kirk along. The Cardassian gave Kirk no provocation, other than asking Spock if he was happy with the arrangements. Spock had never before seen Kirk's face contort so horribly with almost animalistic, feral hatred and fury. Spock had to bodily pull Kirk away to prevent further violence, and they lost several precious seconds there. Seconds they couldn't afford to lose.

The alarm started to sound suddenly, flooding the room with blinding light.

"It appears we have been discovered," Spock noted quietly.

"Seems so," Kirk sprang to his feet. "Are you done?"

"Ninety-eight percent complete."

"That should be enough. Disengage, Spock."

"Captain, but what if—"

"Disengage now."

Swallowing further protests, Spock complied, even as Kirk was pulling him to his feet. They looked into the outer corridor cautiously, but it was still mercifully empty.

"The son of a bitch chose our beam down point well," Kirk muttered. "Let's go."

They ran along the weirdly shaped corridors, knowing their only advantage was the short distance between the computer terminal they were using and the evacuation ports. The entrance was guarded by two Cardassians, who raised their weapons automatically at the sight of the intruders, but were too late. Kirk and Spock fired simultaneously, and rushed past the fallen guards. Their time was up, for even if the ship's crew didn't know their location before, the phaser fire had certainly given them away.

"Quickly, Captain," Spock said, working on the pod's locking mechanism.

The moment the door slid open, he pushed Kirk in, shoving his tricorder into the Captain's hands.

"What do you think you're doing?" Kirk demanded, rounding on him.

"I cannot come with you, Captain," Spock said, listening intently, awaiting the upcoming footsteps any moment now. "Your duty is to get this information to Starfleet and save the _Enterprise_. Mine is to remain here."

"Are you out of your mind? You're not staying here!"

"Captain... Jim. I gave my word that I would. I am a Starfleet officer. I am a Vulcan. I cannot go back on my obligations."

Kirk looked at him steadily. Spock thought he could hear the guards entering the deck.

"I know," Kirk said, and his shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. "Your word is sacred to you, isn't it? Once given, you'd rather die than break it."

"Correct," Spock looked at him, pleasantly amazed. At the end of their journey, he managed to underestimate this man yet again. "I am glad you understand, Captain."

"Yes, I do understand, Mr. Spock," Kirk nodded. "Would it abuse your vow to oversee my safe departure?"

"No, sir," Spock shook his head. "I will hold them until you are clear. Safe return."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock."

Kirk reached for the door control panel, while Spock turned around to check the entrance to the deck, ready to defend it for as long as it would take Kirk's pod to depart.

He heard it, but it was too late. In retrospect, Spock thought that he should have been warned by Kirk's all too easy consent, but the time was short, and he preferred not to push his luck. A soft hiss was his only warning, before he felt the cool rim of a hypo being pressed against his neck. Instantly, his body slumped, as if its weight had tripled, and Spock could barely feel the arms closing around his frame, tugging him back.

"Sorry, Spock," Kirk's voice sounded strained, but firm in his ear, "but I don't have time to convince you."

His lips and tongue definitely didn't want to obey him, but Spock tried anyway.

"Dis... honorable..."

"Yes, well. I seem to have left my honor in my other pants. You can sue me later."

_I will_, Spock tried to say, but failed, as his world rapidly faded into nothingness.

* * *

"We should have heard from them by now," Chekov muttered grimly, staring at the viewscreen as if expecting the gaseous formation to part under his will.

Luca turned around to glance at Kerr.

"Anything on sensors, Lieutenant?"

She checked again, futile as the attempt seemed to be.

"No, sir."

"What about the Cardassians?"

"They appear to be holding position at the rendezvous coordinates."

"Any ideas why they haven't detected us yet?"

"They aren't scanning the nebula."

"They don't expect anyone from there now, do they?" McCoy grunted.

Luca spared him a short glance, but didn't reply. The CMO was as of yet an unknown variable to him. They hadn't had that much contact, and Luca didn't know what to expect of him. His very presence on the bridge was unusual, but Luca made no comment on it.

No matter how friendly his interactions with the crew had been this past week, he was an outsider here. He knew well from experience that nothing could be as detrimental in circumstances such as these as throwing sand in the wheels of the well-oiled mechanism that was a starship crew. These people had been working together for a while. They had their own system of checks and balances, weights and counterweights, home and away games. The system would work even beheaded, as long as no one blocked the time-approved relays.

A seasoned commander, Luca knew that. He wasn't foolish enough to try and break something that worked and worked well for the sake of imposing his own rules. He only hoped he wouldn't upset some well-measured equation by accident.

The situation was the one that should never have occurred on board any vessel. Taking command was a sacred moment for both captain and crew. Chain of command also existed for a reason. The crew trusted their officers, whom they had known for an extensive period of time. Taking command in the middle of a crisis, with no warning or preparation, was not unlike changing a jockey without stopping the horse a hundred meters from the finish line.

"Time elapsed?" Luca asked, knowing even without the confirmation that it had been too long. If all went according to plan, Kirk and Spock should have left the Cardassian ship by now. But they hadn't.

"Fifteen minutes, Captain," Sulu said.

Luca could hear the tension ringing in his voice, but there was little he could do to alleviate it.

"Lieutenant Kerr," he said slowly. "Prepare to conduct an active sensor sweep of the Cardassians."

She straightened up, looking at him in alarm.

"But Captain, that'd likely give away our position."

"I'm aware of that," he said. "But we have to determine if they were taken prisoner."

"Aye, sir."

"Captain Radek, what do you intend to do?" McCoy asked, stepping closer to the command chair.

"I intend to follow my orders, Doctor." Luca glanced at him calmly.

"Captain Kirk ordered you to take his crew back to safety, to Starfleet."

"If the situation warrants it, Doctor. Unless we're discovered, our top priority should be the boarding party."

"Sir!" Kerr's voice jumped higher suddenly. "The Cardassians are changing position! They're headed towards us, sir!"

"And they're charging weapons," Chekov added grimly.

"Looks like they found us," Sulu said.

"Shields up, Red Alert," Luca snapped, springing out of his chair, staring at the viewscreen. "Get me the visual."

"Sensors tied in, sir. Receiving image."

For a moment, they all stared at the screen in horrified awe. Even Uhura had lost her cool for a moment. Lieutenant Kerr was the only one who had actually seen the ship before on her screen, but that still didn't prevent her from reacting.

"God, this thing is huge," McCoy uttered breathlessly.

"And headed straight for us," Sulu commented.

"Keptin, they're ready to fire," Chekov warned.

"Lieutenant Uhura, hail them," Luca ordered briskly. "Maybe they'll buy some talking. Sinead, scan them, scan space, I need to know where Kirk and Spock are. Mr. Sulu, hold your position."

"But sir—"

"Hold your position, Lieutenant, that's an order."

"Captain, they aren't answering our hails," Uhura reported. "Captain Kirk also doesn't answer."

"Damn! They got them," McCoy spat, smashing his fist into the railing. "Whoever came up with this idiotic plan anyway?"

"They're firing, sir!" The last of Chekov's words died in the sound of a full blast hitting their shields.

"Mr. Sulu, evasive maneuvers! Sinead, status!"

"There's too much interference, Captain! The Cardassian hull plating seems to be deflecting our scans, and the nebula's creating all sorts of distortions, I can't see a bloody thing out there!"

"That's it, Radek, you can't find them!" McCoy yelled over another blast, grabbing the armrest for support. "You must take the ship to safety! That's what Jim told you to do!"

"I don't need you to remind me of my orders, Doctor," Luca snapped. "I suggest you report to Sick Bay in case we suffer any casualties."

McCoy didn't budge, glaring daggers at him.

"That wasn't a request," Luca clarified icily. "Lieutenant Kerr, continue your scans, calibrate for any signs of a working engine."

"Aye, sir!"

"Mr. Sulu, take us farther into the nebula, evasive pattern Theta four."

"Aye, sir."

Luca placed a hand on the back of the Helmsman's chair, watching the maneuver being executed.

"Tactical analysis, Mr. Sulu."

"They seem to be slower than us, sir," Sulu said. "Less maneuverable. But we're no match for their firepower."

"Yes, indeed, that would be my evaluation as well," Luca muttered. "Do what you can to stay ahead of them. Our prowess seems to be our most viable defense." He stepped back to his own chair and punched the comm almost aggressively, but looking every bit as controlled and collected as he did before the battle began. "Bridge to Engineering."

"Scott here. Captain, we can't continue to take this kind of pounding. Shields are at fifty percent, and they didn't even hit anything vital yet."

"Scotty, how much power are you saving for phasers?"

"Forty percent, sir."

"Split it between structural integrity, shields and maneuvering thrusters."

"Sir?"

"We can't outgun them, Mr. Scott, our only chance is our speed and maneuverability. Just do it."

"Aye, Captain. Scott out."

Luca propelled himself to the upper rim, even as another blast hit them. Uhura gasped loudly, as her console short-circuited, but she seemed to be mostly unharmed. McCoy, who was still on the Bridge, rushed towards her, to tend to her burnt hands. Luca hovered over the Science station.

"Anything, Lieutenant? Anything at all?"

She made several adjustments feverishly, peering at the screen, with an intensity that could split atoms.

"I'm sorry, sir," she whispered, looking up at him. "There's too much interference."

The deck lurched under their feet, and both of them fell over onto the floor, as well as every other person on the Bridge.

"Extensive damage to our aft shields!" Sulu yelled the moment he reached his console. "It won't withstand another blast, sir!"

"Engineering to Bridge! Luca, we need to get the hell outta here right now! Another one of these and nothing will hold us together!"

"Understood," Luca barked, coughing and massaging his abused ribs.

"They're gaining on us, sir," Chekov said, wiping blood off the gash on his forehead.

"Mr. Sulu—"

"We don't have enough speed to outrun them," the Helmsman shook his head. "I can try to dodge them, but—"

"Sinead," Luca turned back to her with a snap. "The nebula's composition?"

"Ionized hydrogen, stellar dust, helium thirty-three percent, plasma and subsequent compounds up to sixty-five," she reported immediately.

"Radek to Engineering. Scotty, if we ignite the nebula's plasma, will our shields withstand the blast?"

"What the... Aye, if ye cross yer fingers, turn around and spit, I can manage just about enough energy for that. But it needs to happen an hour ago."

"Get ready. Lieutenant Kerr, is the star dust sample collector operational?"

She took a moment to check the rarely used piece of equipment.

"Yes, Captain, perfect working order."

"Unwrap it, and I mean full spread. I need you to collect me enough plasma to recharge a black hole."

"Captain, the stellar dust collector wasn't meant for collecting plasma. It'll likely jam the controls permanently."

"You won't need those controls," he shook his head, as the deck trembled with a closely missed shot yet again. "I want you to make me a plasma balloon and then cut it loose."

"Understood."

"Mr. Chekov, arm photon torpedoes. Mr. Sulu, I need you to put us on a straight line from their vessel, but not before Lieutenant Kerr's ready with her fireball. Can you hold us out of their reach till then?"

"I'll try, sir," Sulu nodded, not taking his eyes away from his screen, sweat gathering in the curve of his brow.

"Mr. Chekov, when we cut the plasma ball free, fire six photon torpedoes directly into it before the plasma disintegrates. That means—"

"That I'll need to fire a moment earlier," Chekov said, hardly noticing in the midst of his concentration that he had interrupted a superior officer. "Yes, sir."

"I'm almost ready here," Kerr said.

"Mr. Sulu, a linear course, now."

"Aye, sir."

"Scotty, transfer all available power to the aft shields. Mr. Chekov..."

"Ready, Keptin."

"Ready."

"Ready, sir."

"Brace for impact. Fire!"

Several surreal moments passed in the rampaging blaze of light and heat that swept through the entire ship, almost setting it on fire. The _Enterprise_ herself groaned at the enormous strain, bending her bulkheads, grazing her hull, threatening to pull her apart, and her crew groaned with her. All the sounds vanished, either becoming too loud to withstand, or being wiped out of existence.

And then everything started to fall back into the physical realm, crashing, hurting and reminding them painfully that they were still alive, and the ship was miraculously in one piece.

"Lieutenant Uhura," Luca breathed out heavily, wrapping one arm over his aching chest. "Get me a full damage report. Ms. Kerr... Any signs of pursuit?"

Kerr picked herself off the deck, wincing and grimacing, and bent over the scanners, unable to stifle a moan.

"No, sir. We've been thrown half a parsec away. No signs of another ship... of any kind."

"Then the Captain and Mr. Spock are dead, sir?" Uhura asked quietly.

Luca pursed his lips grimly.

"We don't know that, Uhura. There's always hope." He frowned and shook his head. "But we can't stay here any longer. The Cardassians may be in better shape than we hope. Mr. Sulu, can you locate the Purple Corridor?"

The Helmsman checked several controls before nodding curtly.

"Yes, sir. It's one point four light years away."

"Plot a course and take us in," Luca said. "Best possible speed."

"Aye-aye, sir."

Standing behind the captain's chair, leaning over it slightly, Luca closed his eyes for a moment.

_There's always hope. _

He didn't want to believe that he might have just lost two Starfleet officers. But even less than that, he wanted to accept that he might have just lost a very dear friend. He listened a bit absently to Uhura reciting the damage report and smiled weakly when she said, "And the stellar dust collector had been destroyed along with the science lab fourteen data collector it had been tied in to."

"Great," Luca muttered, cringing in pain. His ribs were definitely fractured. "Now Spock's never gonna forgive me."


	15. Fifteen

**Fifteen**

He had no idea where they were headed.

Kirk glanced down at his companion, whose head was resting peacefully on his shoulder, and sighed, realizing he had probably meant that in more senses than one. Despite the less than optimistic circumstances, Kirk couldn't help a small smile.

It wasn't his fault really. If anyone's, it was of that Cardassian engineer who designed the escape pod, either having in mind two children or one really big humanoid. All right, granted, the fact that Spock was unconscious was his fault, but when he pushed the Vulcan into this Spanish Inquisition kind of a bunk, he set him in his own space as best he could. It wasn't his fault that the turbulence had nearly killed them, but then resigned itself to giving them a thorough shake. And after all, Spock could have drifted in another direction couldn't he? He chose to bump into Jim instead, as long as unconscious people could choose anything.

Kirk sighed again, feeling guilty for several reasons at once. In and of itself, the situation wasn't unique, strictly speaking. The two of them had been on far too many landing parties where the conditions were less than ideal. In cramped quarters, things like that were bound to happen, and they did, ever since Spock stopped holding himself as rigid as an ice cube with his Captain. And that happened quite some time ago to be anything new now.

Neither of them made a big fuss about it. Spock usually apologized. When it was his turn, Kirk joked. Both chided the other for not rectifying the inconvenience. Neither made any special effort to avoid these would-be unwanted accidents.

Spock was a quiet sleeper, but an expressive one. When he was really sleeping, as opposed to keeping his mind semi-awake, allowing only the body to rest, he succumbed to it so completely that it was a fascinating show. He denied that Vulcans were capable of dreaming, but the emotions that his usually impassive face displayed during sleep gave him away. To see that hidden, private side of him was strangely endearing, and Kirk rarely could resist the temptation to watch when he had the chance.

When he had just assumed command of the _Enterprise_, he was under the impression that Spock didn't sleep at all, never mind during planet fall. When ordered to rest on the surface, the Vulcan would rather induce a deep meditative trance, keeping his eyes open, only his focus inward. Back then, Kirk suspected strongly he wasn't capable of relaxing at all.

When was it that Spock had finally allowed himself to sleep for real for the first time during Kirk's watch planetside? Was it Aranta? Or Dahlia 7? Or even Organia? Kirk couldn't remember now for certain, but he did remember the sense of absurd pride washing over him at having his First Officer finally gain enough trust in him to let him guard his sleep.

Kirk didn't recognize it as such back then, but he knew now that it was a milestone of sorts, signifying a shift in Spock's view of him. From merely a superior officer and a human one at that, he turned into someone whom Spock could trust at least as much as himself to forewarn him of any danger.

This kind of thing went beyond training, basic or in-depth, beyond upbringing, beyond habit. It was more primal, more instinctive, going all the way back to the core, to those times when their ancestors hunted for food and resided in caves, when letting one's guard down almost always meant a sure death. Those pieces of racial memory, echoes of ancient drives, seemed to be stronger in some people than in others, and it took one to know one.

Kirk knew enough of Spock to know that, despite centuries of conditioning and civilizing, his basic, normally tightly controlled instincts were every bit as savage as Kirk's own. _Show no weakness. Watch your back. Never let your guard down. Trust no one_. In the modern world, attitudes like those were extinct, and both of them had to fight down their instincts every minute of every day, in order to fit into this would-be more benevolent reality.

It was probably harder on Spock, than it was on Kirk. If humans merely frowned upon such out-of-date exhibits, Vulcans actively condemned them. Spock, whose blood was calling to him with double effort, was constantly under a twice as potent looking glass, as any human or even Vulcan, because of that same blood. He learned to emulate trust when he couldn't bring himself to feel it. To make him voluntarily drop his guard for someone was by definition no small feat. What would happen after that someone would use it?

Kirk glanced down again, feeling his arm going mildly asleep under steady pressure. He sighed.

"You won't be like this when you wake up, will you?" he murmured softly. Spock, of course, didn't answer, but Kirk didn't need him to. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I didn't think so."

The drug-induced sleep made Spock look younger and strangely more vulnerable. Defenseless. Kirk knew he'd probably hate being seen like that, as much as Vulcans could hate anything. His conscience was nagging him constantly, reminding him that as far as Vulcan emotions went, being observed while sleeping would be nowhere near the top of the list of things Spock would probably get angry about.

Probably. _You wish_.

A light on the panel started to blink, and Kirk disengaged himself gently from the unresisting Vulcan in order to reach it. Not that it did him any good. He had figured, more or less precisely, what the key controls were, but the majority of the board was still terra incognita. Spock would probably have more luck once he was awake.

Mission-wise, they were in a lot of trouble. They had the information, at least Kirk hoped they did. He looked over the records in Spock's tricorder, but the files clearly required to be deciphered and made no sense to him the way they were now. But even assuming their expedition to retrieve the data was a success, it didn't change the fact that the rest of their plan seemed more and more unviable.

Even if the _Enterprise_ had survived the encounter with the Cardassians, they had no way of finding the escape pod. At least, not any time soon. The thought of his ship made Kirk frown deeply. If there was anything he hated as much as waiting, it was this nauseating, tugging feeling of uncertainty, of not knowing. As a starship captain, he was supposed to care first and foremost for the mission, which in this case was flushing out this Big Game and protecting the Federation from the Cardassians. Yet he found himself thinking constantly not about the long-term intergalactic consequences, but of his people.

He felt for them, he couldn't help it. As a Starfleet officer, he was duty bound to care more about the Federation's well-being than that of his crew, but the human in him protested loudly. He had left a lot of friends on board. It was his crew, and they were counting on him. He did what he thought was best for them, but it didn't make the choice any easier.

The soft sound coming from behind alerted him to the fact that Spock was coming around. Kirk stilled inwardly, before what he knew would inevitably lead to a confrontation. He just hoped it wouldn't get too much out of hand. After all, they weren't in the safest of environments.

He could feel Spock sitting up straighter and trying to come to grips with the world of consciousness once again. From experience, Kirk knew that Spock must be slightly nauseous and quite disoriented. He wanted very much to ask Spock how he was feeling.

Instead, he said, "Oh good, you're awake at last. I need some help determining our position."

Spock straightened up silently, not looking at him, and bent over the console without a word, studying it. He didn't ask any questions, but his eyebrow crept up somewhat.

"There's been a huge disturbance in the nebula," Kirk jumped in to explain. "Probably when the Cardassians engaged the _Enterprise_. I don't know what happened, but we've been thrown away pretty far."

Spock gave no sign that he heard him, checking various panels.

"Those Cardassian pictograms, I couldn't make heads or tails of them," Kirk confessed, watching Spock's face closely. "I thought if you would maybe take a look—"

"I require a moment of silence, Captain," Spock uncharacteristically interrupted him in a cold, sharp tone, his voice slightly deeper from sleep.

Kirk closed his mouth, assessing the situation. Bad, he thought. He was in deep trouble, if Spock started with snapping at him like that. He watched the Vulcan checking panels, seemingly at random. From the look of mindful concentration on his face, however, Kirk deduced that the Cardassian alphabet made more sense to Spock than it did to him.

"If my interpretation is correct, we are approximately twelve parsecs away from the Purple Corridor," Spock said, without inflection. "Navigational controls appear to be malfunctioning."

"Yes, I couldn't quite get a hang of them, either," Kirk replied, trying for casualness. "We seem to be stuck with wherever we are headed."

Spock didn't offer any comment, continuing to study the board as if he was alone in the pod. Suppressing his stirring irritation, Kirk tried again.

"The good news is, the environmental system seems to be intact. And there're some rations over there, though I can't know if we'd care much for the taste. According to the tricorder, though, they are edible."

Spock failed to react again, looking over another monitor, instead.

"Look, Spock," Kirk took a deep breath. "I know you must be—"

"I have no wish to discuss it, Captain," Spock dropped flatly.

Kirk was really getting tired of being either ignored or cut off.

"Well, I do," he snapped. "Look, I'm sorry for pulling a stunt like this on you, but I had no choice. I couldn't just leave you there. It was... I didn't... Look, you really left me no other choice."

Spock remained silent.

"Dammit, Spock, say something!"

The Vulcan lifted an eyebrow and, apparently satisfied with the readings, pulled back, sitting primly on the bunk, staring forward.

"What specifically do you require me to say, sir?"

Kirk winced.

"God, Spock, don't do this."

"You will have to make your requests more concrete if you wish me to comply with them, sir."

Kirk rounded on him, as much as their cramped quarters allowed.

"So suddenly you're all compliant, are you? What about what happened on that ship?"

"What about it?" Spock asked, uninterested.

"Do you really think I could have left you there to be further interrogated? You're a far greater security risk than that blasted data ever was."

Spock looked at him impassively.

"You should be aware by now that I do not submit information under pressure. There was no risk of a security breach."

"Granted, but that didn't make it right!"

"That was not your decision to make."

"Really? And why the hell not? Last time I checked I was still the captain here."

Spock's look became steely.

"Yes. Sir." His tone was stingingly deliberate. "And as captain, you allowed me to make an agreement with the Cardassian. You let me negotiate the terms. You agreed for the plan to proceed. And when he fulfilled his obligations, you stopped me from fulfilling mine. You made me break my word, Sir. Until this day, I was unaware that this was one of your command prerogatives."

"I never agreed to those terms because you never told me!" Kirk exploded. "And had I known, I'd never have agreed to them!"

"That does not change the fact that the obligation was taken and then abandoned."

"That was an obligation given to an enemy!"

"And to humans it is, apparently, a crucial distinction. It seems to have slipped from my mind that you only fulfill those obligations you find convenient."

"Don't you dare," Kirk hissed. "I haven't broken my word once in my entire life, Spock!"

"But you didn't hesitate before making me break mine," Spock said flatly. "Why is that, Sir? Why would you consider something unacceptable for you acceptable for me? Is being true to his word a captain's privilege only?"

"You know damn well that I don't think so! I did it because I had no choice, Spock!"

"That is inaccurate. You did have a choice. You made it."

"That wasn't a choice! To change your life for staying true to your word—"

"Would be some people's definition of honor, Captain. It used to be yours, on occasion. But apparently, you do not consider me deserving of the same privilege."

"Spock, that was my fault at any rate, not yours."

"Are you now taking the responsibility for my disgrace away from me as well?"

"Oh, God damn it! I understand that this is frustrating to you, Spock, and I'm sorry for forcing your hand, but I only did it because the other option was unacceptable!"

Spock considered him for a moment, his demeanor infuriatingly calm. Then, he spoke blandly. "Do you regret your actions, Captain?"

Kirk knew he was trapped. There was no way he could lie about this, and no way Spock was going to take the truth well. He remembered briefly the incoherent, feral Vulcan they brought back from his first date with the Cardassian. And then he remembered the feeling of Spock leaning against his shoulder in his sleep, spreading warmth by his mere presence; remembered the quiet sound of his untroubled breathing. He didn't have to weigh the two memories against each other to know his answer.

"No," he said firmly. "No, I don't regret them. I would do the same again."

Spock pursed his lips, as if to say, 'I rest my case.' For some reason, the gesture reignited Kirk's fury tenfold.

"What about you, Spock? I gotta tell you, you have some nerve lecturing me about honor after what you tried to pull on me back on the ship. I never thought betrayal with a kiss was your style, but apparently I was wrong."

Spock blinked.

"I was only trying to protect you," he said, a bit uncertainly. "You are a very responsive individual, and I acted in the only logical manner open to me at the time. That was not meant as a personal attack."

Kirk laughed bitterly at that. "So, you not only tried to seduce me, you didn't even mean it personally? And I thought I couldn't possibly feel any worse."

"That was not my objective. I assure you, I acted having your interests in mind."

"In other words, you're allowed to bend morality in order to have your way, but I'm not?"

Spock frowned, his face darkening.

"You do not understand, Captain. What you made me do was not 'bend morality.' It was not even acting against my upbringing, against every rule of Vulcan society and tradition. What you made me do is considered a crime on my planet, second only to entering another's mind without consent. What you made me do is not against my morality or honor. It is against my very nature."

"Really?" Kirk felt so angry, he could barely contain himself. "How inconsiderate of me! But with your plan being against your very _life_, Spock, I still say I win!"

"You win," Spock repeated pensively. "Yes, of course. I should have realized this earlier. That is all that matters to you—to win at all costs, over anyone and everyone. How shortsighted of me not to have seen it immediately. All you care about is another victory."

Kirk stared at him, breathing heavily, unable to believe Spock was being serious. Which he apparently was.

"How can you say that?" Kirk asked slowly. "How can you..."

"What other logical reason would you have?" Spock asked calmly.

"I don't know, Spock. Nothing comes to mind, help me out, would you? What reason did you have when you came on to me in the briefing room?"

"I was trying to protect you," Spock repeated.

Kirk snorted humorlessly. "So you're allowed to cheat to protect me, but I can't do the same to protect you? That seems fair somehow to your superior Vulcan honor?"

"There is no emotion involved in my actions, sir. I am duty bound to protect you. You are my captain."

"How convenient for you. That's a great excuse, Spock, but I don't have one like that."

Spock gave him a long withering look and then said very calmly, "I cannot possibly fathom what you would require one for."

It was all he could do to remain immobile. There was a strange buzzing in his ears, similar to the aftermaths of being hit on the head. Was it possible Spock's meaning had somehow eluded him? Took another form? Was there any chance at all that this expressionless, indifferent face was a mirage? That he didn't really say what Kirk thought he just said?

Because if the answer to any of those questions was 'no,' he would have to admit that Spock had taken even rejection to an art form.

"You know," Kirk said slowly, wondering briefly why his mouth felt so dry. "You're probably right. I shouldn't be needing one. It seems like I owe you another apology. I'm sorry I care, Mr. Spock, when it so clearly goes against your wishes. My mistake. Rest assured, I'll be working on correcting it."

Something broke in Spock's eyes at these words, but only for a moment.

"Captain—"

Kirk raised a hand, silencing him.

"You wouldn't mind taking this shift, would you? I feel I'm in need of rest."

Spock watched him a moment longer, then nodded curtly.

"Of course, sir."

"Great," Kirk muttered, lowering himself to the bunk, trying to maintain as much distance as possible. "Wake me up if anything happens."

"Yes, sir," Spock replied succinctly.

Kirk closed his eyes, more to shut off the image than anything else. It seemed more and more to him that he'd never learn. This habit of transferring his own emotions onto Spock simply had to stop. Spock never gave him reason to believe his loyalty was anything more than professional. And if Kirk thought at times that he did, it was nothing more than wishful thinking.

He would really give anything to be able to fall asleep right now.

* * *

As it turned out, it wasn't so difficult a task after all.

It was probably exhaustion or maybe the sense of overwhelming defeat he was feeling in abundance, or perhaps even the somewhat lulling vibration of the escape pod. Whatever the reason, Kirk drifted off to sleep when he had least expected it. Not that it resulted in anything good.

_It was a dark, murky, positively nasty place. Like a cliff and a quagmire at the same time. Tugging, pushing, pulling into the lightless depths, where no life could survive. He couldn't remember ever feeling so alone or so desolate. He was certain there must have been times when it was worse. If only he could recall, surely, he'd find a way out? If only..._

"Captain!"

Kirk came to with a start, heart beating rapidly in his throat, breathing uneven. Several things dawned at once—that it was just a dream, that he obviously had been trying to wake up for some time, but couldn't, that it was Spock who finally shook him literally into consciousness, and that, judging by the force of his voice, he couldn't do it at once, either.

"Oh God," Kirk groaned, relief washing over him, relaxing the wound-up muscles. "Oh God."

"Are you all right, Captain?" Spock asked, as he slowly let go of him, watching him warily.

"Yeah," Kirk nodded, suddenly tired all over again. He rubbed his shoulder absently. "What the..."

Spock pulled away, somewhat self-consciously.

"I apologize. You were dreaming, you would not wake up. I might have... used more force than necessary."

"I'm glad you did," Kirk muttered, still under the impression of his nightmare. "It was some dream. Excuse me."

Still rather groggy between the sway of realities and adrenaline, Kirk climbed up from the bunk a bit awkwardly, intending to visit the head. There was literally half a meter of space separating it from the cockpit, and the room itself didn't deserve the name, as it was more of a closet. Kirk cursed, realizing that the light was either broken or non-existent. Well, for all he knew, the Cardassians might not even need it.

"There is a light panel forty centimeters up to your left," Spock's voice came muffled from behind the door. "If you push it slightly—"

Kirk hit the panel with considerable force, working out his irritation. He couldn't tell what got him more annoyed—the thought that Spock would probably have no problems with the darkness, or that he now believed Kirk to be in need of micromanagement. It was entirely possible that the dream was still affecting him, too, even though the details were fading rapidly from his memory.

For the best.

Kirk emerged, grumpy and still somewhat ill-coordinated, and slid down into the bunk clumsily. Spock gave him a quick assessing look, before returning his attention to the tricorder. Kirk knew he was supposed to ask, so he made an effort.

"Has anything..."

"Nothing to report, Captain," Spock said, when it became clear that Kirk wasn't going to elaborate. "I have attempted to adjust our heading towards the Starbase, but I am uncertain of the results, as we are still within the nebula and the navigational computer is not functioning."

"I see," Kirk said, staring at the viewport.

Several minutes passed in silence. Kirk was all but sleeping with his eyes open, trying to get a grip on things once again. Spock shot a wary glance at him, before reaching for a nutritional bar and handing it over. It took Kirk a moment to realize what it was.

"I'm not hungry," he shook his head.

The bar remained in front of him.

"Captain, you require sustenance at this time," Spock said quietly. "It has been approximately ten hours since you partook of a meal."

"I said I'm not hungry," Kirk repeated with a hint of impatience.

Spock's hand wavered somewhat, but didn't retreat completely.

"It is illogical... to refuse to take nourishment... when it is obviously needed."

The strange hesitation made Kirk actually glance at him. Spock wore an open and a strangely familiar look on his face. Kirk couldn't pinpoint it at once, but then he remembered. It was the same kind of look his Newfoundland used to give him, when Jimmy came home from school to find out that some of his belongings had gotten chewed or smashed in his absence. Coming from Spock, it was ridiculous. It was also quite unbearable.

"Oh, all right," Kirk grunted, snatching the food bar from his hand and starting to work the wrappers. He was certain he was seeing things.

It was probably this state of semi-coherency that made him so slow on the uptake. Otherwise, he would have picked up Spock's uncharacteristic nervousness earlier. As it was, Kirk found his mind able to focus on one thing at a time only, and at the moment, it was the food bar.

"Oh hell."

It tasted like paper. Really thick, raw paper, pressed together, with some incursions of brick. Kirk chewed mechanically, wondering idly about the bar's nutritional value. He hoped it was high, because he'd rather not repeat the experience of consuming it too frequently. His thoughts stumbled and broke in unpredictable patterns, as he watched the mildly orange flows of gas unfurl along the viewport. He wished he could see the stars.

"We shouldn't serve together anymore," he said suddenly, catching a thought by its tail.

Spock made some kind of muffled noise, which a crude observer would have labeled startled.

"Captain," he said evenly, but tensely, looking up from his tricorder. "At this point, it is unlikely that either one of us will have a chance to continue in Starfleet. However, if I may ask, why are you against our continuous service together?"

"Oh, it's not me so much," Kirk shrugged, disposing of the last of the nasty food. "Mostly thinking of you. You're so fiercely loyal, you deserve a captain whom you can respect. Not one who stabs you in the back for reasons passing understanding."

"About that, sir..." Spock started hesitantly, but Kirk raised a hand.

"Spock, I know you're itching to give me another lecture on ethics, but I'm like years away from being ready for round two right now. I yield to your superior morality, just give it a break, okay?"

Spock paused and then said quietly, "I only wanted to say that I may have overreacted, Captain."

"Overreacted?" Kirk repeated mindlessly, turning to look at him, and then it hit him.

His eyes widened slightly, as it all came to him at once. Spock's uncharacteristic hesitancy, that odd look from earlier, his evident dismay. Kirk was suddenly very awake, very alert, and slightly dizzy from the realization that somehow, impossibly, he won the game he had given up on. With a mixture of elation and embarrassment, he realized that he must have been quite a sight in his sleep, too. And apparently—_thank God for timely nightmares_—Spock wasn't as immune as he tried to convince himself and everyone around him.

Checking himself from spilling it all instantly, Kirk raised his eyebrows innocently. "Overreacted? You, Mr. Spock? Impossible."

Spock blushed. He had obvious trouble meeting Kirk's eyes, and the sight was plainly incredible.

"Normally, I would agree with you, sir, but at the moment... the stress of the situation... our conditions... I might have... neglected to take into account that... my continuous existence may be of some personal value to you..."

"Of some," Kirk put in ironically.

Spock glanced up at him curtly, before dropping his eyes again.

"It occurred to me that if our positions were reversed, I might have been prone to do the same thing."

"I know."

"It would not have been... merely because you are my captain... I had no right to chide you... in any case. It was not my place, and I... hope that you can... that you can..."

He was babbling, and it was adorable, not to mention unbelievable, but Kirk did have a heart. They were both right, and they were both wrong, and there was little to be done about it. He didn't need to hear it, didn't have to make Spock apologize. He could sense his discomfort, and he wasn't enjoying it any more than Spock did. He didn't want to watch Spock squirm.

He didn't need him to say something neither of them was ready to hear.

"Spock," Kirk interrupted firmly. "Spock, look at me." Their eyes locked. Kirk smiled softly. "Forget it."

"But I—"

"Forget it. Really, Spock. It's all right. I understand. I'm not proud of myself, either."

Spock's expression was still doubtful, and Kirk did what felt natural to him to reassure him. He offered his hand.

"Friends?"

Spock took it, a bit hesitantly, but clasped tightly.

"Friends, Captain."

Kirk's look became sterner.

"Jim," Spock amended.

Kirk grinned. "That's better. Let's take a break from ambushing each other, okay? I got tired of being suspicious of you. I need to be able to trust my second in command, you know. In whatever fleet we end up serving."

Spock lifted an eyebrow. "As your hypothetical second in command, it will be my duty to point out that you have your priorities wrong."

"Do I?" Kirk gave him a cocky smile, which was just a touch wistful. "I don't think so. After all, I was only ensuring that Starfleet wouldn't lose a highly valuable officer."

Spock pursed his lips, having his own words backfiring at him.

"At the risk of losing another?"

Kirk grinned disarmingly. "Whatever it takes." He assumed a more serious expression. "For the record, Spock, I have no problems letting you risk your life when it's warranted. When there are lives at stake or it's vital for the mission. I know it's your duty. I did order you into that amoeba thing, didn't I? But don't expect me to stand aside for something like this."

Spock shook his head in exasperation. "You are the most impossible human I have ever met, Captain."

Kirk beamed, his gaze turning mischievous. "Why, Mr. Spock, did you just tell me I'm one of a kind?"

Spock very nearly rolled his eyes. "Fortunately."

Kirk laughed, patting his shoulder. "Could you pass me another one of those bars, Mr. Spock? I think I _am_ hungry after all."

"I thought you didn't care much for the taste?" Spock noted, reaching for the holder.

"No, no," Kirk shook his head, grinning. "I think I find them better than strawberry."

Spock made no comment, but Kirk didn't blame him. He could see Spock barely holding back a grin of his own. Pushing him now wasn't kind, and Kirk desisted. Given their renewed understanding, he was certain there would be time for it later when it would be a more fair game.

* * *

"How's your Cardassian?" Kirk asked, yawning and leaning over Spock's shoulder to look at the tricorder.

They had been travelling for nearly forty-eight hours now, still within the nebula. An escape pod wasn't designed for speed by definition. Its main purpose was to sustain the life of its occupants for as long as possible. Spock occupied his time with deciphering the logs he had downloaded. Kirk took the opportunity to rest, but his ability to remain idle was slowly coming to an end.

"Progressing," Spock said, without looking up. "I believe I am close to decoding this block."

Kirk leaned a little closer to see the highlighted data.

"That's not the ship's log," he said, certain.

"No," Spock confirmed. "I believe it is the module where the orders from Central Command are stored. It may include the orders both executed already and those for the future."

"That'd be invaluable for us," Kirk mused. "Central Command?"

"I believe it is the equivalent of Starfleet Command for us. My knowledge of the Cardassian military and government system is still regrettably sporadic."

"Oh, come now, Spock. You're doing fine. See how quickly you've taken up the language."

"You forget that I had a brief contact with the mind of my interrogator," Spock reminded him quietly. "As I had no shields and no defense mechanism at the time, I couldn't prevent certain images and information from slipping in. It took me a while to sort it out, but where the language is concerned at least, I find myself in possession of certain... intuitive knowledge. No doubt, it originates from my contact with him."

"Still, Spock, it's very impressive. Why is it always so hard for you to give yourself any credit?"

Spock turned to him, but very slightly, avoiding the inevitable collision.

"Jim."

"Hm? Oh, sorry, Spock," Kirk muttered, pulling away.

"There is no need to apologize," Spock shook his head softly, visibly relaxing a bit.

"Of course there is, I should know better than to crowd you."

"We are in rather confined quarters, there is little you can do," Spock pointed out reasonably. "I would not have objected had my shielding been in place. As it is, your close proximity is... distracting."

"Distracting." Kirk grinned. "I like the sound of that."

"No doubt," Spock said dryly. "If you would kindly give me another ten minutes of peace, I believe I might be able to crack this code."

"Sure," Kirk agreed readily. "I'll even promise to keep my hands to myself."

Spock gave him a blank look, which nevertheless didn't fail to convey exactly what he thought of this kind of humor, before returning to his tricorder. Ten minutes weren't up, however, when he made a soft muffled noise, staring at the screen.

"Spock, what is it?" Kirk asked, alarmed. "What?"

"These orders, Captain," Spock put the tricorder on the board between them.

"You switched them to English," Kirk muttered. "Nice work... Holy hell." He turned pale. "Which Starbase do you think?"

Spock shook his head.

"There is no doubt about it. They left too many traces there, as it was, I believe, with Kalina Ranga space station. They are now eliminating those traces."

"And doing a thorough job at it, too," Kirk said grimly. "Can't we do something?"

"Not until someone picks up our distress call, no, sir," Spock said.

"How long till we clear the nebula?"

"Approximately four hours."

"That's way too long to wait."

"Captain," Spock fixed him with a steady gaze. "It might have already happened."

"I know, Spock, but we can't just sit here and wait till we're picked up," Kirk shifted impatiently, exercising his frustration. "We need to try and break from our route."

Spock nodded somberly.

"Very well, sir. There is no guarantee this will work, however. The turbulence has damaged the pod quite extensively."

"I understand. Let's do it."

"I shall attempt to create an interface," Spock said, linking his tricorder to the control panel. "It should facilitate our ability to read the indicators."

Kirk nodded, knowing that by 'our ability' Spock meant Kirk's ability, because the Vulcan had already committed the known Cardassian symbols to memory. Consideration of speech was an indigenous trait for Spock, though, and Kirk let it slide.

"It's ready," Spock said. "If you would take the helm, Captain, I can focus on the weapons controls."

Kirk stared at him.

"This thing has weapons?"

"Indeed. Short-ranged, but effective."

Kirk shook his head, amazed and impressed. "These guys really are the trusting types, aren't they?" he muttered rhetorically. "Weapons on an escape pod."

"Not completely illogical," Spock noted. "One might never know—"

"Indeed, Mr. Spock. Let's go."

He could plot and read the course more easily now, after Spock reprogrammed the board. It still didn't change the fact that the automated navigation was out, but that didn't concern Kirk much at the moment. As soon as they saw the stars, he should be able to navigate by them. The controls weren't fully responsive, but he hoped he'd be able to avoid flying into a star or an asteroid.

"Approaching the nebula's perimeter," Spock warned quietly. "Crossing in three minutes."

Kirk tensed involuntarily, staring at the screen expectantly. They didn't know where they would be dropping out. There was no way of telling if he was going to need all his impressive reaction and piloting skills at once.

"And—now."

The escape pod slid into open space, the sudden change of scenery causing Kirk to blink. To his relief, however, they were in no danger of colliding with anything straight away.

"Readings, Mr. Spock," he said. "Any vessel in the vicinity?"

Spock scanned the sensors, as best he could, then shook his head.

"Negative, Captain. However, I remind you that the sensitivity of this craft is extremely limited."

As if having heard his words, the pod shook violently once and then stopped moving abruptly. Kirk glanced at Spock, managing to do a decent frown.

"I'd say it's limited," he grumbled. "Have we just been caught in a tractor beam?"

"There would seem to be evidence to that effect," Spock said.

"Friend or foe, Mr. Spock?"

"I do not know, sir. However, I would not be optimistic. The _Enterprise_ is definitely too far away, and we do not have any other 'friends' right now."

"Well," Kirk drawled resignedly. "I didn't think we'd be in the dark for long."

Spock looked at him.

"On that matter, sir, there could be no argument."

Kirk grinned. "Just think of it, Spock. The last thing we do may be actually agreeing on something."

Spock frowned, lifting his head, as the pod around them started to shake and squeak dangerously.

"It might indeed be the last thing we do, Captain," he said, raising his voice above the crackling and sputtering. "I believe the pod may have been more damaged than we thought. It probably can't withstand the force of a tractor beam."

"Make that definite," Kirk snapped, as the control panel erupted in a series of blazing sparks.

Spock turned towards him to answer, but there was no time left, as a growing pool of light swallowed them.


End file.
